


Take Heart, Labored Son, For Your Work will be Done Anew

by The_Furthest_City_Light



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Bechdel Test Pass, Didn't even know what that was, F/M, Female Merlin, Genderbending, Genderswap, MERLIN IS A FEMALE, More characters as they show up, Not a royal either, Now with Serious Themes, born-a-girl!Merlin - Freeform, does this count as tag abuse, eventual Arthur/female merlin, fem!merlin, good job me, how does one tag, literally everyone shows up, not a manservant!Merlin, not a straight episode rewrite, not crack, slowest of burns, spoilers for the whole thing, what even is tagging, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 11:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 68,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6656554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Furthest_City_Light/pseuds/The_Furthest_City_Light
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Merlin is actually born Merlyn, and she finds life in Camelot to be somewhat more enthralling than she expected. More dangerous too. More everything, really. Life as Prince Arthur's personal physician is never boring, at least. Born-a-girl!Merlin, Fem!MerlinXArthur, an AU Morgana and pretty much everything else.</p><p>Chapter Six Summary: The heroes finally defeat the sludge monster, and everyone feels emotions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Destiny Speaks Through a Great Cryptic Lizard

_None of mankind's children, no matter how great, can know his or her destiny._

_You humans cannot glimpse your part in the Great Story that is about to unfold._

_Like anyone else, those born to greatness must live and learn._

_And so it will be for the young witch arriving at the gates of Camelot— A girl that will in time, give birth to a legend._

_Her name: Merlyn._

* * *

 

Approaching the great city was like nothing Merlyn had ever done before.

She glimpsed it several times as she drew closer—white walls and cheerfully waving pennants above crenelated parapets—but when Merlyn crested the forest-bald hill she paused, breathless in the face of such a wondrous sight as Camelot.

The citadel alone was massive. She'd never seen a building more than about eight feet tall, and she wasn't even certain that would even be a useful unit of measurement for this place. It was all massive, soaring turrets and uniform white brick. It was absolutely beautiful.

Her magic gave a small twitch at her excitement and a slight breeze picked up in response.

Merlyn frowned, but the thrill hadn't totally left her. She'd have to be more careful. This was Camelot, birthplace of the purge. She couldn't afford to be caught using magic here. There would be no forgiveness.

Still, even as she watched a huge drawbridge lower to allow someone entrance to the city, she could not help but feel her previous pleasure rise.

There was something terribly _right_ about this place, she decided. And it made her all the more certain that leaving Ealdor—leaving her mother and Will—was the right thing to do. It would be much easier to hid her magic in Camelot, where she could blend into a thousand other faces, than in Ealdor, where she'd been one of one hundred or so.

Some small part of her that she rarely felt keenly relaxed at the thought, allowing her eagerness to resume.

_See, mother?_ Merlyn thought, _I do have some self-preservation skills!_

* * *

Inside the walls, the city was every bit as breathtaking as it had been from the outside.

More people than she had ever seen congregated within the sturdy walls, offering their services in exchange for the king's military protection. Vendors sold their wares, consisting of everything from golden jewelry that sparkled like the sun to rough homespun wool, to random knickknacks and artifacts. There were things there as familiar as the pack on her back, and things she couldn't name if she wanted to. It was a fascinating place, and Merlyn could see herself wandering endlessly through the stalls, trying to figure out what everything was and how it worked.

She wandered toward the city center, knowing that she had to get to the citadel in order to meet Gaius, her mother's old friend. Merlyn unashamedly gaped at the incredible masonry and brickwork that the city boasted. How long must those archways have taken? What about the cobblestone streets? And how, exactly, did one go about designing a two story building? Wouldn't the stone and concrete collapse on itself—

There was a soft beat. A drum. Low and dark. Ominous.

Merlyn tried to convince herself that she would have avoided it if she wasn't heading in the direction of the drum anyway.

She neared warily, and witnessed the crowd of people gathering around the square. Hundreds of peasants were there, watching the proceedings. But what—?

There was a wooden platform in the middle of the crowd. Raised, so everyone might have a chance at witnessing—witnessing—

She gasped in horror. This was an execution. That—that was an axman, standing before a thick wooden stump, aged solid with previously spilled blood and weathering.

The crowd started to part and Merlyn allowed herself to move with the rest of the gathered people. She glimpsed the condemned, being led between two guards to the executioner's block.

"Let this serve as a lesson to all." A heavy, commanding voice proclaimed. Merlyn froze, and turned her eyes slowly to the man standing above the crowd, on an intricately carved balcony hung with Pendragon red and gold flags.

He was dressed finely, in rich red robes over woven mail, a vestige of the king's days as a warrior. He was poised almost elegantly, but his stern face made him seem overall arrogant.

Merlyn didn't need to see the crown to know.

This was Uther.

This was the man she should fear above all others.

Strangely, despite her situation, she did not feel fear. For all his reputation, Uther seemed to be just a man, albeit a very charismatic one.

"This man," the king continued, "Thomas James Collins, is judged guilty of conspiring to use enchantments and magic. And pursuant to the laws of Camelot, I, Uther Pendragon, have decreed that such practices are banned. On penalty of death."

There was a pause, in which Merlyn could only look on in horror. Uther seemed so self-assured, so terribly efficient in his punishment, she could not breathe for imagining the consequences of letting her magic slip now.

"I pride myself as a fair and just king," And Uther had the nerve to sound almost sorrowful at his great burden here, "but for the crime of sorcery, there is but one sentence I can pass."

And oh, how arrogant, how pompous this man sounded, lording over the people like a savior even as he destroyed. But Merlyn could see, this man was not righteous. He was not acting justly—she knew he was not! Magic did not mean evil, did not deserve destruction! How could he? How _could_ he? It was _not_ evil, it _mustn't_ be evil…

She almost missed it when Uther nodded, and the condemned was lowered over the chopping block. The axe was leveled over the man's neck, and the drums beat faster and faster, foretelling approaching death—

Uther's hand raised slowly, almost as if he were savoring it, and as his hand fell the axe did as well.

Most turned away, but Merlyn could not. She kept seeing herself in that man's place.

"When I came to this land, this kingdom was mired in chaos," Uther continued to justify, to rationalize, but all Merlyn could see was the red of that man's blood matching the color of the Knight's cloaks. "But with the people's help, magic was driven from the realm. So I declare a festival to celebrate twenty years since the Great Dragon was captured, and Camelot free from the evils of sorcery. Let the celebrations begin."

He uttered it all so _logically_ , so _magnanimously_ , and Merlyn could not understand the kind of monster that lived under this man's skin. Or why no one else seemed equally repulsed.

Uther turned to walk away, his work done, and a terrible scream rose from the crowd, like the sound a soul makes when it is rent in two.

It was an old, hollow-looking beggar woman, with unwashed hair and ratty robes. The crowd backed away from her, afraid for their own lives.

"There is only one evil in this land," she declared, "and it is not magic!"

Merlyn's heart rose in her throat, afraid for this woman as much as she agreed.

"It is you!" The beggar continued recklessly, as if one utterance of treason weren't enough, "With your _hatred_ , and your _ignorance_ … _you took my son_ ," she sobbed, gesturing helplessly at her son's decapitated corpse.

She took a deep, wild breath, gasping out the new words. "But I promise you, before these celebrations are over, you will share my tears." And anger destroyed her grief. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A son for a son!" She cried, madness coloring her face now.

Uther reacted immediately, not even pausing to blink. Merlyn was kind of surprised he allowed the old woman her speech in the first place. "Seize her."

She raised her cloak over her face—there were whispered words—and she disappeared into smoke.

Magic. Uther had killed her son, but it was the mother he'd been after all along.

Uther seemed to realize this, and Merlyn wondered if there wasn't a flash of concern on his inhuman face before he turned and stormed off.

People were leaving now, though, now that the drama was over, and it would be odd for her to continue staring after the king to try and puzzle out if he had a conscience or not.

So she wandered off, heart heavy with the first-hand knowledge of what happens to those with magic in Camelot.

* * *

Finding Gaius' chambers was as easy as she'd expected it to be. Not much point in a court physician if no one could get to them. After many, _many_ flights of stairs and some more bafflement at the how-tos of constructing a castle, she came to a wooden door with a plaque declaring it the residence of the Court Physician. The partition was slightly ajar, and so Merlyn knocked softly as she entered, wondering at the rich smells within and the faint hiss of heat as something bubbled.

No one answered, and so she entered anyway, intending to simply wait for the owner's return.

But there were so many things in this curious little room! Tables full of glass cylinders and loose paper and various pieces of wood and other material—including a rabbit mask? The shelves all around the room were bursting with glass phials, full of different substances Merlyn didn't recognize.

And, on the back wall, there were _books_. More books than she'd ever seen in her life. Her mother had taught her how to read and write and her numbers, of course, but never had she seen a real bound-in-leather book. They looked beautiful and stately and precious, and so terribly curious.

"Hello?" She called, not wanting to simply intrude if she could help it. Merlyn had no wish to invade the space of someone who kept such a cozy and quirky home.

Finally, she spotted someone—on a balcony shelving _more books!_

She coughed, loudly, and the man started. Over the railing. Actually he was going to—

A reaction without thinking, a need to _fix_ and _save_ and _go to any lengths_ to make it so. Even her new Uther-birthed fear could not stop this resolve to _save, fix, prevent_ —

Time slowed. Magic swelled in her, a crescendo of movement and intent. Merlyn ever-so-carefully reached out to the man and grabbed hold of him with her magic, twisting her hand to right him, and allowed time to resume.

The man fell slowly with her hand and touched ground without any harm done.

A moment later she came to the same realization as the elderly man apparently did—she'd just used magic in front of a stranger!

"What did you just do?" He demanded, "Tell me girl, speak up!"

She started stuttering, her normally infallible mouth tripping in her panic.

"I—well I have no idea what happened." She tried.

The old man looked at her in horror, and possibly anger. "If anyone had seen that—" He started.

Merlyn shook her head vehemently. "No, that—that was nothing to do with me. At all."

The elderly man turned on her and now she _knew_ he was angry. "I know it _was_." But his gaze was not unkind, either. "I just want to know where you learned how to do it."

She continued to deny it, her fear freezing her tongue. She'd just seen an execution and she could just picture herself in Thomas James Collins' place—head severed from body, blood spilling into the cobblestone…

"How is it that you know magic?" The old man demanded loudly.

"I don't!" She denied, afraid.

The old man seemed to realize her terror, finally. He took a deep breath. "Where did you study," he asked, like there should be an answer. Unfortunately for him, that just wasn't true. When she didn't respond, his anger returned, "Answer me!"

"I've never studied magic!" she cried, desperate for him to be appeased.

The old man took a threatening step forward. "Don't lie to me, girl."

Merlyn could take a lot, but she truly hated lying, and she especially hated being accused of it on those rare occasions where she was telling the absolute truth. "I'm not lying." She said viciously. "I was born like this!"

The old man scoffed, "That's impossible." Then he paused. "Who are you?"

Yes, well. Formalities seemed sort of moot at this point but she did have a letter...

Instead of answering, Merlyn just pulled the letter out of her pack and handed it to the old man.

But he didn't open the letter, just complained about his missing glasses.

Well, there went that option. "I'm Merlyn."

Recognition lit in the man's eyes. "Hunith's daughter?" Finally, they were getting somewhere. "But you're not to be here till Wednesday," the old man declared confidently.

Merlyn blinked. "It is Wednesday." The old man—who she now supposed must be Gaius—quickly changed the subject. "Right. You'd better put your bag in there."

She blinked again, unsure about the direction of this entire conversation, and started to do as she was bid. But before she reached the stairs, fear and curiosity seized her. She turned. "You won't say anything about—" She gestured in a vaguely all-encompassing way toward the balcony.

Gaius seemed to grasp her meaning. "No." And he said it so solemnly, so honestly, that something warm built in her chest.

Trust. She _knew_ it could be found anywhere. Even so close to a man who had the heart of a devil like Uther.

She turned to drop off her belongings, and was almost instantly called back.

"I suppose I should say thank you, Merlyn." The old man smiled kindly, and Merlyn saw, for the first time, why he and her mother were friends.

The little room in the back of Gaius' chambers was larger than she thought it would be, and Merlyn briefly felt guilty for taking what was surely Gaius' sleeping chambers. He'd probably given them to Merlyn because she was female.

She explored her room, her natural curiosity compelling her to learn more about her surroundings.

There was a window, and now she realized why Gaius' chambers had taken so many stairs to find.

Her room was situated at the very top of the easternmost turret, overlooking the lower town. Candlelight from all the various homes glowed cheerfully, and Merlyn felt a rush of unexpected contentment wash over her.

This—this right here—this was right. This city and its people, it was like it was trembling with potential, and was ready for Merlyn to join the fabric of its society. She felt an inexplicable fondness for this place, a connection to it she'd never felt with Ealdor or Will or, yes, even her mother.

Merlyn didn't know what it was, but as night fell over Camelot that evening, all she could do was revel in the sensation that she was finally home.

* * *

Merlyn woke to a stranger calling her name.

The voice was low and husky, and somewhere in the center of her soul she felt it was almost familiar…if she could just reach—

She woke with a start, somewhat bewildered by her surroundings. And then she remembered, and had to take a moment before getting dressed to reign in her excitement.

When she came down the short staircase to the main quarters, Gaius already had breakfast prepared.

"There's some water," he informed her when she was spotted, then reproachfully, "you didn't wash last night."

Merlyn blushed. "Sorry."

"Help yourself to breakfast," Gaius said kindly. Merlyn sat down and, still somewhat sleepy, sort of stirred her porridge, trying to figure out what gave it that particular…consistency.

Then Gaius knocked the water bucket over.

She gasped and her magic sprung forth—she could _feel_ her eyes turn gold and the bucket paused, free form, in mid-air as she stood out of shock.

Gaius looked just as shocked, glancing between her and the bucket with something akin to fear.

"How did you do that?" Gaius asked, genuinely confused, "Did you…incant a spell…?"

"No!" she snapped, the indignity of being tricked still haunting her. "I told you, it just happens."

"I see…" Gaius muttered, but from the look on his face, Merlyn could tell he truly didn't. "Well," he started, changing the subject. "I'll have you deliver these. You can work for me until I find something of paid employment."

She nodded happily enough and Gaius proceeded to give her various instructions for the different potions.

Once informed, Merlyn rose to leave, trying to keep the instructions straight, and trying to figure out how to get around the castle.

"Oh and Merlyn," Gaius added as she crossed the threshold, "I don't think I need to remind you to be careful, do I?"

She remembered the rusty old axe and the drums. "No."

Gaius nodded. "Good."

Merlyn was halfway down the stairs when she realized she hadn't eaten anything for breakfast.

By then it just wasn't worth it.

* * *

Arthur Pendragon was in a bad mood.

He knew that. And, he thought, everyone else should probably know too. Just in case it was possible for them to do anything about it.

Training always alleviated his bad mood though. Something about the physical exertion and the thrill of having deadly weaponry swinging close to vital body parts made him feel more alive. And after beating Sir Oldwyn, he did feel a little better. But then Sir Bered got in a lucky shot, and he lost.

It was the first time in several months he'd actually lost a swordsmanship match.

He wasn't sure if it was because his own skills were lagging or if his opponents were just improving as well.

Either way, he was in a terrible mood. First because of his father and his ranting about the virtues of public executions and then because Morgana chose him to rant to about his father ranting about the virtues of public executions, and finally because of his subsequent guilt over the whole mess.

Obviously the sorcerer deserved to die. Such crimes warranted death. But Morgana was arguing things like 'collective trauma' and 'perception of ruthlessness,' and some small part of him agreed, and that made him angry.

Clearly he was nowhere ready to be king if he couldn't even stomach the idea of a public execution.

Well if testing his swordsmanship wasn't going to make him feel any better, it was time for his favorite game.

"Where's the target," he drawled.

His servant of three days motioned to the side of the field unsuspectingly. "There, sir."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, already enjoying this game. "It's into the sun," he remarked.

The servant seemed uncomfortable, like he'd gotten an inkling of what was to come. "It's not that bright…"

Arthur pounced gleefully. "A bit like you, then?"

That got a chorus of laughter from the knights.

His servant seemed rather like he was trying to simply make it through the next five minutes. "I'll put the target down the other end, shall I, sir?"

Arthur nodded, and the boy scurried off to fix the target.

One of his knights commented. "How presumptuous to even question you, my lord."

Another gainsaid, "You should teach him a lesson."

Arthur shrugged, shifting as the boy hefted the target. He hadn't been that mad, but his father was always telling him about how much his reputation with the nobles mattered.

The game would continue then—with a moving target this time.

"This'll teach him," Arthur assured his fellow knights.

Arthur was quite confident in his skill, and the boy was in no danger. Still, he didn't take very long in aiming and it showed when the knife just barely managed to land in the bulls-eye.

Dammit. Couldn't he at least hit a target properly?

The servant felt the thunk of the knife as it embedded in the shield. In his surprise he examined it and looked up at Arthur, startled.

"Hey, hang on," he protested. But this was a game Arthur had played before.

"Don't _stop_ ," he sneered slowly, incredulously, as if talking to a child.

The servant seemed to remember who it was that he was talking to and shuffled backwards a few steps, the weight of the target now obviously laboring him.

"Here?" he panted, face scrunched in pain.

Arthur shook his head, trying not to laugh, "I told you to keep moving!"

He threw another knife and to Arthur's delight it landed perfectly on target.

Even more…well, not exciting, but… _necessary_ was the fear in the servant's eyes. Of course he was perfectly safe—Arthur didn't miss—but there was something rather powerful about knowing the exercising of one's skills could be used to protect life as much as end it. But Arthur liked it—not the fear, but the sense of control he derived from it.

"Run!" He encouraged the hapless servant, now ducking entirely behind the shield.

He threw another knife and the servant stumbled as it landed, forcing the knife to the outside of the target.

"We want some moving target practice," he said sourly. And this time the knife landed closer to the center.

The servant was now panting for breath, his face scrunched in pain. But his boots didn't falter and Arthur continued to throw until finally the target dropped to the ground and rolled to a stop with his servant beside it.

Arthur turned back to his laughing comrades, and listened to them congratulate him on his aim. It felt good. It felt like respect—

"That's enough," a strange voice called.

Arthur turned back to his servant. A girl stood next to him, clad in leather riding leggings and boots and wearing a long-sleeved red tunic that reached to her mid-thigh, cinched at her waist with a thin strip of leather. A folded blue cloth was tied around her neck with the knot off to the side, and a matching light blue cloak protected her from the autumn chill.

She was a pretty little thing. Pale skin and dark hair tied back in a style uncommon in Camelot, with a heart-shaped face—soaring cheekbones tapering down into a well-defined chin. She had a slender frame, and she was short—probably only coming up to his shoulder, if that. Her stance was strong, and despite being off balance, she was obviously determined in her challenge.

In the end it was more out of shock at her audacity than anything that made him respond. "What?"

"You've had your fun, my friend," she said it evenly, but he could still see the stubborn set of her jaw that betrayed her anger.

Arthur walked closer, suddenly curious. "Do I know you?"

Her eyes narrowed, and Arthur could see now that they were a clear shade of blue. "I'm Merlyn," she said cautiously. Her hand twitched forward like she would normally offer him a hand to kiss in greeting, but was thinking better of it.

"So I don't know you," Arthur reiterated, for the sake of turning this back on her. No one challenged him and got away with it. Especially not tiny little peasant girls like this.

"No," She responded, becoming frostier by the second. She kept on looking at him like he was some kind of vile creature emitting an unpleasant smell that was suddenly shoved under her nose.

Arthur smirked a little at her bravery. Or idiocy. Either one, really.

"Yet you called me friend." Obviously this girl had no idea what respect was.

She nodded, as if in agreement. "That was my mistake."

Ha! He'd won this verbal exchange. It was only out of his own kindness that he didn't have her clapped in irons immediately. This would teach her to mess with royals. "Yes, I think so," Arthur agreed magnanimously, still grinning a little.

So he really wasn't expecting it when she had a rejoinder. "I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass," she said cheerfully, the light in her eyes turning triumphant.

He laughed—this girl was either brave or stupid, and it was amusing to watch her put her foot in her mouth.

(And if he was secretly impressed that she had a comeback and was brave enough to voice it, well, no one had to know)

She was still glaring at him, even though she obviously knew he wasn't going to apologize to his servant or whatever it was she thought she would get him to do by standing up to him.

"Or I one who could be so stupid," he promised. He took a step closer, forcing her to crane her neck to meet his gaze, but instead of shrinking back her glare only intensified.

How startlingly honest she was with her emotions. It made him wonder if other people were always this transparent about their feelings, or if that was just one of those things about human interaction he wasn't privy to due to his status.

He grinned at her cockily, wondering what reaction he'd get.

"I beg to differ—your buffoons over there seem little more than sheep."

His eyes widened involuntarily. This girl had no limits to the number of high-ranking persons she was willing to insult, did she?

"I'd be careful if I were you." He warned her seriously, because yes, he was going to have her punished somehow for this, but he was also a more forgiving noble than most when it came to peasants. It probably wouldn't be worse than sweeping his room or something, but for some of the men over there? They wouldn't hesitate to have a woman flogged.

"What are you going to do, hit me? I wouldn't if I were you."

This girl…

He was a little offended that she thought he would hit a woman in the first place, but it was outweighed by her threat. "Oh, and what's that supposed to mean? Are _you_ going to hit _me_?"

She glared. "Something like that."

He grinned at her audacity. "I don't think you will."

She surprised him by taking a half-step closer. "I won't if you don't make me. Apologize to your servant!" She demanded finally.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Not going to happen." She opened her mouth, probably to insult him more, but he cut her off. "How about this—If you can hit me, I'll apologize." Honestly if this little girl could land a solid hit he needed to resign as head of the military.

Her eyes narrowed further, and Arthur goaded her on, "Come on, try it."

Merlyn's mouth twisted and she stepped back and then swung—her leg!

Shit she was going for his groin!

He jumped back and out of the way just in time, but coordinated this girl was not, and she overbalanced. Arthur caught her arm and held her wrists together in front of them, partly to keep her from falling over and partly because he didn't want to give her the chance to run.

"Oi, do you know what you almost did? I still need those!"

"Camelot would be better off without your spawn!" she declared, trying and failing to tug her wrists from his grasp. He made sure he wasn't bruising her, but held firmly all the same.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I think not, considering."

She glared at him venomously, "Considering what? Who do you think you are, the king?"

Arthur smirked, and leaned forward, to whisper the truth in her ear. "No, but I am his son." She froze suddenly, and Arthur grinned a little at her reaction, even if it kind of disheartened him. Having someone talk to him frankly was rather…refreshing. "And you just attempted to end the family bloodline," he declared rather happily.

She shot him another venomous glare that somehow just made him more pleased with himself.

Some guards approached then, appearing just in time for him to pass her off.

"Send her to the dungeons for the night," Arthur declared, "and she can scrub the corridor outside my chambers when she's released in the morning."

The guards took Merlyn away, and she went rather quietly, considering how spirited he knew she was.

"So I don't suppose I can claim ignorance?" she asked the guard on her left. The man just took a more deliberate grasp of her shoulder and pushed her forward.

Arthur let out a disbelieving huff that he refused to believe was a laugh. His knights coalesced around him, moaning about how kind he was with the mouthy girl, and how forgiving.

He wanted to nod along, and he wanted to claim that this, in fact was the respect he so craved. But then he thought of flashing blue eyes and had a traitorous thought.

_At least she respected you enough to argue with you._

Arthur threw no more knives that day.

* * *

The guards were not gentle as they threw her in the cell. Not nearly as gentle as that asshole prince, at any rate, which was infuriating.

In all fairness she _did_ threaten the family jewels. She probably deserved being restrained.

Of course she wouldn't have gotten involved if the prince had been behaving like a decent human being in the first place. It didn't surprise her at all that the offspring of Uther Pendragon would be like that though. They had the same unfeeling arrogance, the same heartless souls. Monsters, the both of them.

The guards were harsher than the prince though, and she was still rubbing her shoulder the next morning when Gaius came for her.

She'd been unable to sleep. Between her thoughts of the prince, her fear of discovery and the _disembodied voice floating through the cracks in the walls and floors_ , she slept fitfully at best in the dungeon.

She was just starting to doze off when she heard hurried footsteps on the dungeon staircase.

Merlyn started awake, curious, and rose to her feet as Gaius rushed in.

"Merlyn?" Gaius called, stopping in front of her.

"Gaius!" She exclaimed happily.

"You!" Gaius yelled, shaking his finger. It was then that it occurred to her that Gaius was not in any way pleased with her. "You are amazing!" Except it didn't sound like it was a good thing.

This was confirmed when Gaius started pacing. "The one thing someone like you should do is keep your head down, and what do you do?"

_Call the prince out on his bullying?_ She thought, because she wasn't sure it was safe to speak.

"You act like an idiot!" He exclaimed angrily.

Like most half-wits confronted with Gaius' ire, she ducked her head and apologized. "I'm sorry."

Gaius rolled his eyes. "You're lucky. Arthur was very lenient with you."

Merlyn felt her own ire rise at the thought of that arrogant, no-good, cocky—

"I suppose I'm to go scrub floors now?"

Gaius nodded, smirking. "I rather say you deserve it."

* * *

It took some time to find the corridor the Prince had assigned her to scrub.

Part of the problem was the castle was massive, and as a newcomer, she had no idea where Prince Arthur's chambers were.

The other part of the problem was, when she saw the state of absolute decay these particular corridors were in, she went numb. Forget morning, this could possibly take until dinnertime.

She squared her shoulders and set the bucket down, starting in the corner farthest from Arthur's room, simply because she didn't want to be reminded any more than she had to be of his stupid face.

Water sloshed in the bucket when she set it down, and it got on her dress. She sighed, and simply dipped the stiff brush in the soapy water before getting to work. There were so very many scuff marks on these floors, like someone deliberately made them whenever entering or exiting their rooms—

She stiffened. If it was Arthur, she was going to have a cow. Literally.

Merlyn bent and stretched along the gaps in the tile, trying to free all the trapped dirt and wash it away. She was, once again, glad she'd chosen to wear one of her rattier old dresses. It would be rather awkward if a male came up and got a view of her posterior while wearing the infinitely more practical leggings. Plus, this dress could take the abuse much better than leather could.

She didn't know how long she'd been scrubbing when she heard someone coming down the hall. Merlyn simply ignored it. She was next to the westernmost wall anyway, and unless whoever it was needed to get into the room behind her, there was no need for her to stop her work.

She was making good progress. Most of the scuff marks weren't nearly as difficult to lift as she'd feared, and the brush did wonders for getting dirt out of grout. Her knees were sore and her hands were a bit cramped, perhaps, but she had a real shot at finishing this mid-afternoon.

As the footsteps drew nearer, she noticed there was not one but two sets of footsteps approaching. Mentally, she shrugged, and returned to her task, imagining that every speck of dirt was actually Arthur's ugly face cringing in pain.

It was really quite understandable then, that she didn't realize the footsteps had stopped until one of the voices spoke.

"Excuse me?" A soft voice asked timidly. Merlyn looked up, slightly startled. Two women stood there, one with warm, coffee-colored skin, and one with skin as pale as her own. "I'm Guinevere, but most people call me Gwen," the dark-skinned one said and gestured to her friend, "and this is the Lady Morgana. I'm her maid."

Merlyn stood, and curtsied while ignoring the pain in her knees and hands. Propriety was hard, but she was working on it. "Nice to meet you, Gwen, Lady Morgana. I'm Merlyn." She smiled, "But today I'm thinking a more appropriate epitaph would be 'gullible fool.'"

Morgana stepped forward then, and clasped Merlyn's hand in her own. "No! Gwen told me what happened. Arthur is a terrible bully, and I'm glad someone finally had the nerve to stand up to him." Morgana blinked. "Well, other than me, of course."

Merlyn grinned despite herself. "I'm afraid I behaved quite stupidly. I'm new here, I didn't know who he was." Not to mention the other nobles she insulted.

Gwen shook her head vehemently, "No! No it was brave. I would never…I mean, I don't have the confidence to…" She bit her lip and cut herself off.

Morgana saved her. "Gwen's right, it was very brave. And sometimes a little recklessness does a girl a world of good," she declared and smiled winningly. Merlyn had to smile. It was nice someone thought she did something right yesterday. Even if it was incredibly stupid.

"And this punishment is ridiculous," Morgana ranted, warming to her topic. "You stand up to him and he makes you do chores? Ugh!" The noblewoman threw a hand in the air for dramatic effect.

Merlyn shrugged. "It's better than the dungeons."

Gwen gasped. "I forgot they put you there! Are you alright?" The sweet woman peered closer. "You look tired. Did you sleep?"

Merlyn shrugged. "It was rather drafty, but I'm fine." _Aside from the voice that's only in my head, that is._

Morgana frowned. "Well I think you deserve some kind of reward." Merlyn opened her mouth to protest but Morgana smiled and snapped her fingers. "I know; do you have anything to wear for the celebratory feast coming up? Gwen can make you something suitable, and I'll pay for the fabrics."

Gwen nodded eagerly, "I'd love to—it'll be brilliant!"

Merlyn finally gave voice to her protests. "Wait! No, I can't ask that of you—I'm not even really employed, there's no way I could pay you back—"

Morgana waved her concerns aside, "It's a gift, you're not expected to pay it back." Morgana smirked. "Think of it as my way of saying thank you for doing my job when I wasn't around." She waved a hand imperiously, a mischievous glint in her eye. "We all have to work together to deflate Arthur's ego. The job is much too big for one person!"

Merlyn couldn't help it.

She laughed.

* * *

"Are you sure your hands are clean?" Gaius asked as she went to eat dinner. Merlyn glared. _After eight whole hours_ of scrubbing the corridor outside Prince Arthur's chambers was clean. Her hands, however, were nearly raw.

She frowned at Gaius, but she had to work past her appreciation for the joke first, "I know you're still angry with me."

Gaius sat before her. "Your mother asked me to look after you." He said it as if that should explain all, like it was the ultimate explanation for all of Gaius' behaviors.

Merlyn remembered her last few months in Ealdor. The tension. The fear, as her magic grew even more powerful and her mother sought to tamp it down even more when it was all Merlyn could do not to let it simply be free.

It was hard. Despite the risks, Merlyn was safer here, where she could learn about her magic and how to channel it without stifling herself.

"What did your mother say to you about your gifts?" Gaius asked curiously.

Merlyn shifted uncomfortably, "That I was…special." A ridiculous notion, of course, born of a mother's love for her daughter and her fear, as well.

Gaius surprised her. "You are special." He concurred gently, like he was trying not to scare her off, "the likes of which I've never seen before."

Disappointment. Gaius, of all people, would have known something about why she'd been born like this. "What do you mean?"

Gaius didn't answer right away, his old eyes taking him far away from the chambers they now shared. "Well…magic requires incantations, spells, and it takes years to study. What I saw you do was…elemental. Instinctive."

And…this was nothing she did not already know. "What's the point if it can't be used?" Merlyn was surprised at the forlorn air in her own voice.

Gaius shook his head, not even trying on that one. " _That_ I do not know. You are a question that has never been asked before, Merlyn."

Of course he didn't know. Even as well-educated as the man obviously was, he didn't—

Wait a minute. "Did you ever study magic?" She questioned with a note of surprise, knowing the answer already on some level.

Gaius hesitated before answering. "Uther banned all such work twenty years ago."

She felt a flash of frustration. In terms of history, the Purge was still so young! What could have possibly happened that led to this genocide of her kind?

"Why?"

To her surprise, Gaius had an answer. "People used magic to the wrong ends at that time. It threw the natural order into chaos. Uther made it his mission to destroy everything, back then. Even the dragons."

Something spoke in her magic, whispered through her veins. "What, all of them?"

Gaius shrugged. "There was one dragon he chose not to kill; he kept it as an example. He imprisoned it in a cave deep beneath the castle where no one can free it." Gaius sounded sad. Then he shrugged and changed topics.

Still, Merlyn's mind lingered on the dragons.

Beneath the castle, huh? That might explain why she kept hearing a disembodied voice floating through the walls.

* * *

Merlyn was still thinking about dragons and suspicious singers when she began walking through the market.

Of course, that just _had_ to be where she ran into the asshole prince once more.

He saw her first, she was pretty sure. Either way, they made eye contact, Arthur smiled in a way that would have been handsome if it weren't so arrogant, and Merlin glared but said nothing. Instead she turned on her heel and attempted to walk away.

There was nothing she could reasonably do to improve this relationship either. Not really. Arthur was a prince, so he would act in whatever way he felt like, and she was a commoner, punished for speaking her mind.

To her immense surprise, Arthur jogged after her.

"Hey! Merlyn!" She raised an eyebrow when she realized he'd remembered her name. Her surprise compelled her to turn towards him, just in time to see him weaving through people as they passed. "Do you still want to hit me?" If Merlyn didn't know better, she'd say he was honestly curious.

She pursed her lips, and turned away again, Gaius' warnings about keeping her head down ringing in her ears. Of course, ignorance was probably grounds for some kind of punishment, but she couldn't quite bring herself to act all deferential and shy and demure. If that was what Arthur was expecting, then he was sorely mistaken.

"Ah, don't run away!" And that arrogant tone, like a whiny toddler who was wanted a toy, just seemed to crawl under her skin.

She couldn't resist. Merlyn stopped, but did not turn around. "From you?"

"Oh thank God, I thought you were deaf as well as dumb." There was a pleased tone in his voice that confused her and angered her at the same time.

She turned to him, anger and indignation forcing her caution out the window. "Look, I've told you you're an ass, I just didn't realize you were a royal one."

Arthur's eyes widened in shock and he turned to the knights behind him as if to say _'are you seeing what I am? Look at the lowly peasant dance!'_

_If you only knew_ , she thought, _if you only knew what I could do_.

"Oh, what are you going to do?" She uttered viciously, frustration at her forced helplessness and anger at his arrogance coalescing into insults. "You going to have your daddy's men punish me? Do you not have the wit or spine to handle insults to your person yourself?"

It occurred to her, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like her mother's that insulting the prince's ability to lead was possibly incredibly stupid.

Arthur laughed, but his eyes seemed suddenly colder. "I assure you, dealing out punishments is something I am _intimately_ familiar with."

She thought there might be an innuendo in there somewhere, but she ignored it. Instead something cold froze her spine at his words, and she had the thought that dealing out justice was probably a difficult thing to do if one happened to possess a conscience.

But, as she had already decided, she was quite certain this absolute prick had no idea what a conscience _was_.

"That's nice. It would seem you're also entirely familiar with being a prat."

His eyes crinkled again in absolute amusement, looking to his friends in pompous conceit before turning back to her. She couldn't quite make out the emotion in his eyes, but they almost looked…curious? Disbelieving? Maybe even…pleased?

"You can't just address me like that," he declared, somewhat bewildered but mostly amused.

She had to fight to avoid rolling her eyes and instead just smirked. "Oh, I'm sorry. It would seem you're also entirely familiar with being a prat, _my lord_." She added a mocking curtsy just to emphasize her point.

Arthur blinked. "Why you little—" He lunged for her, but in a rare moment of grace, Merlyn whirled out of the way and gave chase. She could hear him blundering behind her, and she deliberately wove through tight spaces that he, being so much bigger, had a tough time fitting through. She laughed a little to herself, surprised at how playful this felt, and her magic rose to the surface with her enjoyment.

Still, the prince was far too quick to be deterred by her choice of terrain. His gloved hands brushed her arms and back several times before she could duck out of the way.

If she was going to be smart about this, she should probably just give up and let him catch her. But everything in her rebelled at the idea of letting the prat win, of letting him get away with his cruelty and arrogance.

She used magic discretely, moving boxes and various hanging objects mere inches—just enough to get in the prince's way, and make him look like the clumsy fool. She kept her eyes down, when she did it, making sure she could not be seen from any angle. Despite her interference, he continued to catch up with her, until finally she tripped him into a pile of sandbags.

She grinned and turned to him triumphantly, giving him a salute, to which he blinked stupidly. She wondered if he'd hit his head, and mentally shrugged. It was well deserved, the pompous ass.

She turned, with every intention of scampering off before anyone regained their bearings, but then she caught Gaius' disappointed gaze in the crowd, and suddenly felt ashamed.

How could she have used magic so carelessly in front of someone who could end her life with mere words for it? How could she have endangered Gaius, who had decided to protect her for her mother's sake?

Then something heavy slammed into her back and arms like steel wrapped around her front, pinning her arms to her sides and suddenly she was lifted off the ground.

"Got you!" The prince shouted triumphantly, and she scowled.

"Congratulations," she snarked squirming, "you caught me when I wasn't moving."

The prince sounded far too pleased with himself when he responded. "That's your own fault."

She tried to wriggle out of his arms more, legs pumping but only catching air. Dammit, she couldn't even kick his shin. Arthur's arms just tightened a little, and the corner of his mail cut into her back across her shoulders. Merlyn refused to wince from the discomfort.

"Let me go!" She demanded. She felt more than saw Arthur's pleased grin and it infuriated her.

"Alright, alright, keep your shirt on." He set her down rather roughly and she just barely managed to avoid falling over.

Then three guards descended on her and she really did lose her balance. It was only because they had such a tight grasp on her that she didn't hit the dirt.

"Oh, let her go," Arthur said dismissively. The guards released her rather reluctantly, and Merlyn found her footing again, even as she looked at Arthur in surprise. "She's an insolent idiot, but she's brave." Arthur's face turned considering as he looked at her. "There's…something different about you, Merlyn." And now he didn't look so arrogant. "I can't quite put my finger on it."

She blinked in surprise, not expecting such comments. She suddenly noticed how steady his gaze was, almost…powerful. Compelling. She wondered what he would look like when he gave a genuine smile, not colored by arrogance or pride.

Merlyn noticed also, that as he turned away he kept his eyes on her for as long as possible.

She did not acknowledge the fact that she, too, kept her eyes on his back as he walked away.

* * *

Gaius saved his rant until they climbed the stairs and shut the door to his chambers.

"How could you be so foolish?" he demanded.

She frowned, forgetting her previous self-reproach. "He needed to be taught a lesson," she declared defensively.

"And what lesson was that? Pride? Because I assure you, Merlyn, I see plenty of _that_ in you!"

She huffed, but could not deny it. "He treats those below him like dirt!"

Gaius seemed near to breaking point. "He is the prince! He is not someone that _you_ should be teaching."

But Merlyn remembered the compliments of Morgana and Gwen, and the grateful look of Arthur's servant as she'd stood up for him. "Not everyone feels that way."

Gaius shook his head fiercely. "Magic must be studied, mastered, and used for good. Not to be your personal instrument of justice, Merlyn!"

She turned to Gaius now, angry and emotional. "What is there to master?" And it surprised her how lost she felt and sounded. "I could move objects like that before I could talk."

Gaius did not see that as mastery. "And by now you should know how to control yourself, not acting like an impulsive child!"

Impulsive? She'd been careful! Hadn't he seen that? She'd hidden it. No one suspected her. "I don't want to hide it. It must be for some purpose, right? If I have it there must be a reason! Who are you to say it's not to correct the injustices I see!"

Gaius grew angrier still. "And who are you, to say that you can see all injustice as it is? Who are you to play God, Merlyn!"

She hesitated, suddenly unsure as old fears filled her mind. Not knowing what she was, or what she was capable of, fearful of her limits and what she wouldn't do. But her sorrow rallied her. "If I can't use magic, then there's no purpose for me at all," she uttered solemnly, certainly.

Gaius huffed. "Oh, Merlyn." He stepped forward, placing a gnarled hand on her cheek. She felt the anger drain from her body, leaving a sense of numbness. "You are more than your magic, you know."

"I'm not, though," She said sadly, surprising herself with her almost tears. "Gaius…you said it yourself. I'm not something that's ever happened before. I'm a monster." Just like the Pendragons. She was just as bad.

Gaius pulled her closer, and she saw his gaze grow gentle. "Never say that, Merlyn. It is a fearful thing, being so different. But it is your choices—what you do with your circumstances—that make you human, Merlyn. You are only a monster if you behave like one." He smiled. "I sense great kindness in your heart, Merlyn. Act on that, and you certainly cannot go wrong."

She couldn't help it. She threw her arms around the old man and cried.

"Thank you, Gaius." She whispered. She cried a little more when Gaius hugged her back.

* * *

Merlyn did not sleep that night.

In some respect she was still thinking about her conversation with Gaius, about that absolute prat who'd remembered her name and seemed absolutely bewildered by her in a way that made her sort of sad for some reason. She was also thinking about her mother and Will, wondering what was happening with them.

But mostly, she did not sleep because she was waiting for the voice to speak again.

It was why she was unsurprised when she heard it again.

_Merlyn._

She sat up in bed, looking around, now certain she was not imagining things.

_Merlyn._

She rose, sneaking past Gaius and dressing in her usual tunic and cloak. But she didn't leave before using magic to replace Gaius' blanket over his shoulders.

He'd told her magic was to be used for good, and that was her choice to make. Surely making sure an old man didn't get cold in the night was proof of that?

She exited the room, knowing she had to be quiet and subtle. There was a curfew in Camelot, and people would ask questions if they saw her wandering around at night.

She headed down, into the bowels of the citadel. The voice most frequently seemed to come from that direction, she had no other guesses besides.

Merlyn thought she must be right when the voice egged her on, continuing to call her name every few seconds.

The guards were easy to get past. Amazing what a little magic could do for sneaking purposes. She wondered if the king and the prince knew…?

Soon it was necessary to steal a torch. These corridors were obviously traversed rather infrequently, and certainly not often enough to light continuously. Merlyn crept forward, cautious now, and a suspicion growing in her mind about who she was heading toward, or maybe _what_ was the proper term…

Concrete and stone gave way to bare rock face. It was no longer a corridor she traversed, but a cave.

She turned a corner just as the voice called again, sounding almost frustrated this time.

It just encouraged her to walk even more cautiously.

But then the cave walls opened, and she was standing on the brink of some great cavern, huge and open like a cathedral, stone walls glistening with dampness.

There was a low chuckling that seemed to reverberate through the very air, and a great rush of air.

She looked around frantically, desperately trying to see the source of the sounds, but the light of her torch was unable to penetrate the darkness.

"Where are you," She demanded, and in front of her something large shot upwards through the darkness. Something large, and scaly, and gold. There was a rush of power unlike anything she'd ever felt before, and her surprise humbled her. Never before had she met a creature of magic, someone with more power than her. She felt…almost steadied by it. Reassured.

On the great monolith of rock before her rested none other than a dragon, massive and powerful and reptilian eyes glowing in the dark.

"I'm here," the ancient voice proclaimed.

Instinctively, Merlyn took a few steps back, uncertain as she watched this creature curl with self-assurance and pride. But then she looked at it, felt a tug of familiarity or perhaps kinship with it through her magic, and relaxed, curiosity taking over.

The dragon seemed satisfied with this response and leaned back on his haunches. "How small you are," he crooned almost fondly, "for such a great destiny."

Part of Merlyn wanted to say _'I'm quite sure everyone is small compared to you,'_ but most of her mind latched on to the latter half of that statement. "Why?" She asked eagerly, "what do you mean?" Finally, someone might know something about her powers, about what she was meant to do with them. "What destiny?"

The dragon settled further, shuffling his leathery wings. "Your gift, Merlyn. It was given to you for a reason."

Something settled in her chest, and she felt her spirit rise on wings of hope. "So there is a purpose?" She questioned breathlessly.

The great scaly head cocked in amusement. "Arthur is the Once and Future King, who will unite the land of Albion."

There was something wonderful about that phrase, her magic buzzing at the words. But she couldn't resist the disappointment she felt as well. What could Arthur possibly have to do with her own destiny?

"Right," She said sarcastically. The dragon didn't seem to notice, or at least ignored it.

"But he faces many threats," he continued, "from friend and foe alike." The dragon said it like Merlyn should know exactly what to do with this information. Like she should care.

"I don't see what this has to do with me," she said haughtily.

The dragon snapped at her, reminding Merlyn oddly of Gaius, "Everything! Without you, Arthur will never succeed. Without you, there will be no Albion."

Her magic buzzed again at the dragon's words. A subtle knowledge that this was, in fact, true, that the dragon spoke of things she did not yet understand but would certainly come to pass.

She rejected this idea, that she was somehow bonded to that horrible man who would see her dead. "No. No you've got this wrong," she denied, even though her instincts rang with the dragon's validity.

The dragon chuckled. "There is no right or wrong, only what is and what isn't."

She recoiled, disgusted. "How can you say such a thing? Of course there's right and wrong!" She exclaimed, thinking of Uther's Purge, "If there is only what is and what isn't, what need have we of laws and kings?"

The dragon laughed, "So clever already, young witch?" He settled again, "What I meant, my dear, was that Destiny exists outside of morality. It simply is. We all have a part to play in her grand story, and that does not necessarily mean good things for all involved."

Merlyn scoffed, "Why participate then?"

The dragon smiled, "Because, little witch, Destiny is the one thing you cannot choose, and the one thing from which you cannot escape."

She shook her head, appalled at his fatalism. "No, I don't believe that." For what did that mean for her, if she was destined to become a monster? "We all have our choices," she declared, remembering Gaius' wisdom, "And we all choose what we must do when circumstances are presented to us."

The dragon smiled toothily. "Perhaps, young one, but Destiny knows all, and knows what you will choose."

She sneered, "Well that doesn't change the fact that we all have our choices, does it?" She shook her head, trying to move on from this thought. "Besides, there must be someone else you're thinking of. This Arthur is an idiot." She declared, despite the quiet thoughts she'd harbored to the contrary.

The dragon made an expression that could almost be described as a smirk. "Perhaps it's your destiny to change that." And if she had been looking at a human, she would have called the dragon's golden eyes fond.

With that, the beast spread his wings and launched upwards.

Merlyn did not call him back, but she did take a few moments to stare into the abyss before taking her leave.

* * *

Merlyn attended her duties for Gaius distractedly the next morning, wandering her way through the castle. She was still thinking about her late-night visit to the dragon, which was probably why she ended up entering Lady Morgana's room without knocking.

"I've been thinking about Arthur," she declared.

_What a coincidence_ , Merlyn thought, _so have I_.

"I wouldn't touch him with a lance pole," Morgana continued, bustling about behind the next screen. Merlyn had just enough time to wonder why Morgana was telling her this when she said "pass me that dress Gwen?"

Merlyn decided it was best she speak up now, lest things get any stranger. "I'm afraid I'm not Gwen, my lady."

Morgana froze, poking her head around her partition. "Oh! Merlyn! What are you doing here?"

Merlyn smiled and held the potion up for her to see. "Gaius sent me with a sleeping draught."

Morgana nodded absentmindedly. "Set it on that table there," she ordered, gesturing to a table near her bed. Merlyn did as she was told. "I heard you saw Arthur again," Morgana commented gleefully, this time walking forward to take the dress herself. "Tell me, what exactly is a prat?"

Merlyn shrugged, "I wasn't entirely sure until I met the prince. Best I can tell it's a cross between a raging narcissist and a spoilt brat, but I really can't be certain."

Morgana laughed and Gwen entered through the servant's door. Her eyes brightened and she smiled widely when she observed Morgana's visitor. "Merlyn! What are you doing here?"

Morgana's face dimmed its laughter and she gestured to the table displaying the sleeping draught. "She comes with a present from Gaius," she said almost bitterly, but her face brightened again. "And rather accurate character assessments for our dear prince."

Gwen raised an eyebrow, and Merlyn got the feeling she was somewhat impressed. "I see." Then she caught sight of what was in Morgana's arms. "Oh! My lady, let me help you with that!"

Morgana smiled at Gwen, and then went behind the partition again. "So, Merlyn, is that your overall impression of Arthur then?"

Merlyn shrugged, unsure of how to voice the idea that there might be more to Arthur than met the eye. "I'm certain that's how he comes off, but I couldn't dream to speak to his true character, my lady. I'm sure you'd know better than I."

Morgana hummed agreement as Gwen tightened the straps of the dress. "He expects me to attend him at the banquet tonight." And Merlyn could hear the frown on her face. "But he never asked me, he just expects it." Another hum. "I think I'll go alone. Gwen? Merlyn? What do you think."

Gwen smirked, "My lady, I assure you I wouldn't _dream_ of trying to change your mind."

Merlyn smiled at Gwen. "I say teach him a lesson in making assumptions, my lady."

Morgana waved an imperious hand as she stepped out into the center of the room, wearing a lovely blue gown. "Oh please, call me Morgana, both of you." She hesitated in front of the mirror, observing herself. "Now the only question is, do I wear this little tease, or give them a night they'll really remember?" She asked, grabbing a red dress off of a chair near the mirror.

Gwen smiled. "That depends on if you wish to make a statement or not, my lady."

Morgana frowned at her. " _Morgana_ , Gwen, we're friends."

Gwen just gave her a sweet smile in return. Merlyn grinned.

Suddenly the handmaiden turned to Merlyn, excitement showing on her face. "Oh! Merlyn, I forgot to tell you. I have your dress ready! We should fit it right now, so it will be ready for this evening."

Merlyn blinked in confusion and then her face slacked in surprise. "My dress?" She looked between the two women, truly astonished. "Really, that wasn't necessary, I didn't expect you to go through the trouble—"

"Nonsense," Morgana decreed, waving a hand over her shoulder while eyeing the red dress in front of her speculatively. "You put Arthur in his place not once but twice. I should certainly think that deserves some kind of reward." Merlyn opened her mouth to protest further, but Morgana cut her off. "Besides, the dress is already made, and it won't fit either of us."

"You'll just have to keep it," Gwen chimed in cheerfully.

Merlyn gaped, not entirely sure what to say. "Well, thank you. You're both too kind."

Gwen shrugged. "I love sewing. I had fun with it."

Morgana nodded proudly, now turning away from the mirror. "Gwen is quite good. She's even made some of my dresses."

Gwen blushed from the praise and Merlyn smiled. "I'm sure it's lovely."

"Come," Morgana decided, "The dress is in the back of my wardrobe, isn't it, Gwen?"

The handmaiden nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, yes, try it on!" And that is how Merlyn found herself spending the rest of the afternoon, getting pricked by needles and laughing with two women she was now quite confident in calling friends.

* * *

This feast was as unpleasant as these things usually were.

At least that's what Arthur decided when he entered the room and found himself immediately bored.

His fellow knights were gathered in a corner near the head table. He walked up to them and greeted them in the usual manner, with much ribbing and teasing.

But then he looked up and saw Merlyn and he blinked in disbelief.

She was wearing a dark green dress that had an elegant but daring neckline, exposing pale skin and the smooth column of her neck. Her dark hair twisted back into a braid that was accentuated with silver thread, matching the embroidery of her dress.

She looked like a princess, and he almost couldn't believe it was her. Then she took a step forward, her flowing dress not quite hiding the clumsiness of her movements, and he snorted to himself. That was Merlyn alright.

Despite her apparent lack of grace, she walked confidently, and it was with some surprise that he realized she was walking toward Morgana's maid.

Speaking of, Arthur found his jaw dropping further as his eyes lighted on the King's ward. Morgana was wearing a _dress with no shoulders_. What was she thinking? Everyone would be staring at her!

Something like protective sibling instincts rose in him for the ward in question and, suddenly finding himself distinctly not bored, he walked up to her.

Morgana smirked knowingly at him as he approached, and Arthur found himself suddenly unsure. Maybe this was the reaction she was looking for? Maybe she wanted everyone staring at her?

It was never good to play into Morgana's games. It always ended poorly for him, in embarrassment or in bewilderment and oftentimes both. She just really loved taking potshots at his ego, and it looked like she was waiting for an opportunity now.

So, halfway to Morgana, he changed direction entirely, and turned toward the only other female in the room he even kind of knew.

It only took a few strides for him to get to Merlyn and Morgana's maid—Guinevere? He remembered Morgana talking about a Guinevere…—but then he suddenly froze.

What does one say in these sort of situations? When talking to peasants? He'd had no real purpose when approaching them other than not falling for Morgana's trap, whatever that was.

Guinevere noticed him first, which made sense since Merlyn's back was to Arthur. Her dark eyes widened, and he noted that she was also quite pretty.

"My lord?" She asked, "Can we help you?"

Merlyn turned around now, and one delicate eyebrow rose on her elfin face as she observed him.

He didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to say.

Compliments! Girls liked compliments, right?

"Your dress looks more exquisite than I would have expected of your station."

From the look on her face, that…didn't come out right.

"And your manners are much poorer than I would have expected of yours." Merlyn sniffed, and Guinevere 'eeped' behind her. Merlyn was not deterred, "It was a gift, if you must know."

Arthur frowned. "And what, _exactly_ , did you have to do to get such a lovely present?" It was only after the words were out of his mouth that he realized he'd insinuated something rather terrible about her. "I mean—"

She raised a hand to stop him, face flushed angrily and her blue eyes were diamond hard. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

He shifted, trying not to display his discomfort. "Try me."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not sure I should tell you. Ask the Lady Morgana, if you're so curious. It was a gift from her and the seamstress who made it."

Guinevere flushed and seemed to shrink a little, and Arthur had a sudden suspicion as to the seamstress' identity.

But if this was Morgana's gift…

Arthur chanced a glance to his father's ward. She was staring at him with open surprise on her face, and the slow workings of an absolutely _gleeful_ smile.

Like most brothers confronted with a sister's glee, he felt his insides quiver a little in dread.

"Well if it was Morgana's gift I'm sure you did something of some worth. Somehow." Arthur finally responded.

Merlyn's eyes warmed in secret amusement, and he had the sneaking suspicion that he was somehow out of the joke. "I don't know about 'worthy,' but the actions in question were _definitely_ worth it."

His suspicions were further confirmed when Guinevere let out a surprised giggle, and Arthur shifted his gaze to glare at her, somehow feeling as if a joke was being told at his expense.

He opened his mouth to say…something…when the trumpets sounded, announcing his father's arrival to the banquet hall. It was with some relief that he made his way to the head table, standing at his father's right hand. Morgana stood at the King's left, and for the briefest of moments he caught her smug, green-eyed gaze.

Dammit. Somehow he'd played into her game after all.

He'd never understand women.

* * *

Merlyn watched from the side of the room as King Uther gave his little speech, obviously fond of this "Lady Helen of Mora," whoever she was. Her mind was still filled with thoughts of Arthur, and preparing scoffing rejoinders for the next time the great cryptic lizard tried to claim he was destined for anything worthwhile.

Of course, she did rather _enjoy_ this last encounter. He'd been rather awkward and off balance, like he didn't know what to do in this setting. She wondered if it was because he didn't have the option of threatening her with a weapon at the banquet.

Everyone clapped as the Lady took her place on the stage, yellow silk swishing around her legs as she entered. The king sat, and everyone else did as well, servants excluded. Merlyn stood almost in the stairwell, waiting to be called on for service.

The melodic plucking of the harp was…soothing. Like a lullaby her mother once sang her to sleep with. Lady Helena opened her mouth, and words tumbled out like a song, but…it wasn't in English…

Invisible wind shifted the lady's clothes, her arms rising as she fell into her song. The room seemed to still with her singing, as if transfixed.

Merlyn smiled. This woman was impressive, if she could command a room like that. But what language…?

Helen stepped off of the small stage, walking deliberately up the center of the room. Merlyn felt suddenly lethargic…

Then her magic met the lethargy and she was perfectly awake.

What just…?

All the warmth seemed to drain from the room, and its occupants swayed in their seats, no doubt overcome by Helen's terrible lullaby.

Merlyn covered her ears, watching in horror as her magic revolted against Helena's, working against it to keep Merlyn awake.

And it _must_ be Helen. She was the only one unaffected other than Merlyn.

Spider-webs crawled over the room's comatose guests, extinguishing candles and rotting fruit. The lullaby swelled, and Merlyn watched where Helen's eyes were fixed…on the front table…on the king?

No…it was on Arthur. Stupid, narcissistic, bullying, rude, merciful Arthur.

From somewhere in her dress she pulled a dagger, raising it above her head as the climax of her song ripped from her voice.

Merlyn reacted, as she always did.

The cast-iron chandelier above her hung from a chain. The chain snapped with Merlyn's magic, and the chandelier fell, candles long-since extinguished.

Lady Helen was crushed beneath the falling metal, cutting off the last of her song.

Merlyn released her ears, doubting that was doing much good anyway. The room was still quiet, covered with cobwebs, and dark. She wondered what it was she should do now…?

But then the guests started to wake, shaking off their magically-induced sleep and, bewildered, pulled the cobwebs from their faces and clothes. Merlyn was relieved to see Gaius wake as well.

Uther stood first, obviously shocked but ready to take charge, and saw Lady Helen on the ground.

Except…she wasn't Lady Helen anymore…

Merlyn gasped. It was the sorceress who lost her son mere days ago!

The wrinkled old woman was apparently not down for the count, because she rose off the ground, dagger in hand, and _hurled_ it at the prince.

Merlyn saw what was happening in slow motion, and saw Arthur's face as death closed in.

Shocked. Scared. Confused. Human.

_We all make our choices_ , she'd told the dragon.

She slowed time.

She raced forward, the dagger spinning and arcing towards Arthur's chest—

Merlyn reached him first, hauling him out of the way with the entirety of her weight and a little magic besides. It was just enough to pull them both to the ground, and the dagger struck the back of the wooden chair exactly where Arthur's heart would have been.

The whole room stared in shock, and with a soft keen of despair, the mother of Thomas James Collins joined her son.

Arthur rose, and she followed suit, clumsily standing in her new dress and shaking a little from adrenaline.

The prince was looking at her in complete shock, like she was the last person on earth he would have expected to save him. Then King Uther prowled over, breathing heavily from what was probably fear and adrenaline from seeing his son almost die.

"You saved my boy's life," the king said gratefully, almost reverently. "A debt must be repaid, my lady." Then the king blinked, as if confused. "Who are you? I don't believe I've seen you before."

She blushed, and tried to hide her fear at the king's proximity. What was it with these people and debts? And how was she to explain she was merely wearing a gift? "I'm Merlyn, my lord. Gaius' ward. I'm not a lady, I'm afraid." She paused. "And there's no need to—"

The king's eyes widened in surprise. "Don't be so modest, you will be rewarded." The king looked to his Court Physician. "Gaius, is she training to be a physician with you?"

Gaius stood, and like everyone else was still partially covered in cobwebs. "She may apprentice me, if that is your wish, my lord. She has a clever mind and a healer's soul."

Merlyn blushed at the praise, not sure what to think. The king nodded in a satisfied way, and turned back to Merlyn. "Very well then. I shall make you Arthur's personal physician. You may train with Gaius, and one day, perhaps, become Camelot's Court Physician when Gaius decides he's grown tired of us."

She wasn't sure what to think, wasn't sure how to take the fondness in the king's eyes when he spoke of Gaius.

A monster did not feel fear for others, or build friendships with those below him.

"Every day," Uther continued, "You will follow Arthur and tend to his ailments," Uther decided, apparently warming to the idea. "You will taste-test his food, prevent muscle-soreness from training, follow him on expeditions outside the castle—"

Arthur, who had not stopped staring at Merlyn since they stood, now turned on the king. "Father!" He objected.

Merlyn tried as well, "Really your majesty, that's not necessary, I need no reward."

Uther waved both their objections aside. "Of course you do—this all merits something quite special. You will be Prince Arthur's personal physician, and be well compensated."

Merlyn tried her very best not to gape at the man as he swept away, apparently satisfied.

Arthur's look of abject horror would have been funny, if it wasn't mirroring her own dismay.

She should have just let the prat die.

* * *

Later, in Gaius' quarters, she was wondering with no small amount of fear how on earth she was going to survive being in close proximity with Camelot's royalty every day for the foreseeable future.

Sometimes things just happened. Sometimes vases broke and doors swung shut and curtains fell, and she didn't mean for it to happen, but it did. How was she to keep it a secret? How was she to protect herself in front of the very people who would see her dead for what she was?

She stared at the candle, and watched with despair as it flickered in time with her racing heartbeat.

Gaius walked in, carrying something wrapped in velvet.

"I've decided you'll need this." Gaius announced. He handed her the bundle and she unwrapped it to reveal…

"A book?" She asked curiously, almost breathlessly. She'd never owned a book before.

"A _magic_ book," Gaius corrected. "It's the one I studied from, before the Purge." His expression turned sad. "I hid it to protect the knowledge within. Uther banned such tomes when he could no longer find sorcerers."

Merlyn frowned and traced the curious etching on the cover, written in words she did not understand.

Yet.

She smiled at the thought. "I will study every word," she promised. Her shoulders slumped then. "But I do not know when—I'm to follow Arthur all day."

Gaius shrugged. "I'm sure we'll work it out. You need time to learn the healing arts, after all." Gaius looked down his nose at her. "It requires diligent study, you know. I hope you'll be up to it."

Merlyn nodded. "I'm honored to be your apprentice, Gaius." She said honestly, then smiled. "In more than just healing."

Gaius smiled back, before tapping the book. "Take care to hide that, Merlyn. You don't want anyone to find it."

She nodded, thinking carefully, before an idea crept into her mind and she smiled. "I think I know just the place."

Gaius nodded as she made for the door, swinging her cloak over her shoulders as she went. She'd just reached the threshold, hiding the book in its velvet wrapping before the old man called her back.

"And Merlyn?" Gaius asked. She halted and looked up. "You're a hero. I've known since the moment you saved my life, and you proved it again tonight." Gaius cocked his head. "Perhaps this is what your magic is for. Saving people from their own folly."

She smiled ruefully. "Sounds rather frustrating."

Gaius smirked. "But entertaining, to be sure."

She hesitated before leaving. "You said you believed in choice, didn't you Gaius?"

The man nodded. "Indeed."

Merlyn frowned, trying to reconcile the wisdom of two people wiser than herself. "So destiny…"

Gaius sighed. "Destiny is difficult." He sat down at his chair, suddenly looking old. "Personally, I believe destiny is what we make it. That our choices in the past affect but don't control our choices in the present or the future." The old man settled back into his chair. "It is…difficult, for me, to believe I have no say in what I choose. But perhaps the truth of destiny lies in what others choose, which is not nearly so easily influenced by one's own resolve." Gaius looked at her, suddenly serious. "It is an important lesson, Merlyn: we cannot choose for other people. Only for ourselves. And we must accept that others would not choose as we do, in certain situations."

Merlyn nodded, and sensing the lesson was over, took her leave.

* * *

She stood, once more, on the stone balcony overlooking the Dragon's keep.

"Hello?" She called, unsure if he would answer. The dragon soon responded, wings creating a vacuum of air as he descended on his perch.

"If it isn't the young witch," the great best purred. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She cocked her head to the side. "Do you have a name?"

The dragon blinked in what she assumed was surprise. "Indeed," and he did sound surprised. "My name is Kilgharrah. In the Dragon Tongue, it means 'the guide.'"

Merlyn filed that information away for later, despite having her curiosity piqued. Dragons had their own language? Well she supposed it made sense…but that wasn't why she was here. "Do many people come to visit you?" She asked, curious.

"Uther visits every year, on the anniversary of my capture, to gloat." Kilgharrah said huffily. He was slowly reminding her of a great, talking cat. "But other than that…you, Merlyn, are the first in twenty years."

She looked at the dragon, and wondered if he got lonely. She remembered Gaius' words about Uther killing _all but one_ dragon, and thought perhaps she understood something about being utterly alone. There was no one like her, after all, and she was a freak even in the magical community.

But she had distractions. She had people to talk to and a world to explore. Kilgharrah had none of that, locked in this dank cave. Merlyn wondered if the beast was not insane. Surely he had suffered grief? And sitting in this cave for years on end, with nothing to contemplate but the loss of his kin, and his imprisonment…what torture.

"I've obtained a book of magic," She said slowly. "I'm going to hide it down here, and practice here." She sensed his surprise, despite his lack of expression, and she smiled. "You need company, and I need a place to learn in secret."

She got the distinct impression that Kilgharrah was raising an eyebrow. "Have you accepted your destiny then?"

Merlyn frowned at him, then levitated a convenient rock, to the side of the cavern entrance. Using her magic, she hollowed out a space beneath it, so that the book would fit with its velvet covering, and not be crushed.

She hid the book, contemplating her answer. When she stood, she turned to him.

"I have accepted nothing of destiny," she told him. "I just know what choices lay before me. I could leave Camelot, and never learn magic, slowly remove myself from society and be lonelier than I've ever been before." The dragon stayed silent. "Or, I can stay and learn, use my magic to help people, and prevent further destruction. If that involves Prince Arthur…" She trailed off and shrugged. "So be it." She placed her hands on her hips. "I didn't have a choice in having magic. But I have a choice in how I use it. I choose to use it for good."

The dragon sighed, before a reptilian smile stretched across his lips. "An interesting argument." The dragon tensed, and she knew this to mean he was preparing to take off.

"I believe in destiny, young Witch, and someday you will too. On that day, I assure you, you will be greater than even I can imagine."

Then the dragon sailed into the dark of the cave, and Merlyn returned to her warm chambers.

She fell asleep that night with the strangest,most otherworldly feeling she'd ever had.

Contentment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel somewhat compelled to inform you that I've never done a genderbent story before. It is very strange.
> 
> Obviously, you'll have noted some changes to Merlin's/Merlyn's character. This is because she is a girl, growing up in a mostly patriarchal society. She's more mature in some respects, less so in others. She's got a quick temper and she's prideful. I imagined she'd be somewhat like Morgana, but with less melodrama, more wisdom and a mothering nature. If you have complaints about how I've characterized him as a her, then by all means send me a pm or review and I would be happy to explain why I wrote something the way I did.
> 
> I used the pilot episode as a template for this. As we get further along, I'll be sticking to the episode story-line less and less, until finally I just do my own thing. I'm planning on going wherever it takes me, which means the characters will stay in character and I won't force them to fit the plot.
> 
> Also, Kilgharrah's name? I have no idea what it actually means.
> 
> I'm sure there are many, many editing catastrophes that must be addressed in this, but I was really curious about the response it would get. So I'll go back and edit if you guys tell me there's stuff I need to fix. Deal?
> 
> Thanks for reading, I know this was a long one.


	2. In Which the Plot Thickens to a Porridge-Like Consistency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlyn banter. Arthur's manservant passes out. Valiant is devious, Merlyn becomes a scooby-doo character, and Kilgharrah is cryptic and sassy.

It was much too hot this morning.

That was what Arthur decided, at least, when he found himself sweating more than usual the day before the annual tournament was to start.

His servant, whose name escaped Arthur, was currently dressed in half-mail, with a sword and full shield.

"Ready?" He asked, because Arthur definitely was.

"Would it make a difference if he said no?" A haughty voice called from the sidelines. Arthur glared at his newly-instated personal physician.

"Not really," he called back airily. Merlyn returned the glare. Arthur swung his sword a few times for emphasis before turning to the terrified servant.

To help him out, and also to make it worth Arthur's while, he started calling out the places he would strike next.

"Body." The boy deflected it with his sword, just barely, but Arthur was swinging at half-speed and quarter-strength. "Shield." The sword clanged off the shield but only because Arthur didn't force his weight through the sword and allowed the metal to naturally rebound. "Body," he called again, expecting improvement. There was none. "Shield." The boy fell over.

He sighed. "Honestly, _Mer_ lyn could do a better job," he sneered. "And she's a girl!"

Merlyn raised an eyebrow in a manner scarily similar to Gaius. "I hear Morgana used to beat you, when she was still in practice."

Arthur felt a surge of irritation. "Since when are you and Morgana so chummy that you don't have to use her title?" And he refused to acknowledge that he sounded rather whiny.

Merlyn shrugged. "We're friends. She gets annoyed whenever I do it. I've just gotten into the habit of calling her by name, I suppose."

Arthur huffed, and then turned back to the boy, who was looking up at him with wide, terrified eyes.

He sighed. He didn't really mean to be so frightening. And honestly, the boy should be grateful. Arthur was teaching him swordsmanship skills! What could he possibly have to complain about?

"Oh come on, I'm not going to really injure you." And when the boy still didn't look mollified, he added. "And if I do, that's what we've got Merlyn here for."

Thanks to his father, who had the oddest ideas about reparation he'd ever encountered.

To his complete and utter astonishment, the boy just squeaked and fainted on the spot.

"Merlyn," he called, pointing to the overexcited servant with his sword. "I think this is _your_ job."

Predictably, she'd started to run as soon as the boy fell. "What did you do?" She asked accusingly.

Arthur gaped at the injustice. "Nothing! He just fainted."

She spared him a glare. "I'm sure you did _something_ , with all that swinging of sharp, pointy objects." Her hands unfastened the helmet from around the boy's head, and she twisted him so he lay flat before tilting his head up.

Arthur watched her hands. Not two weeks ago, those same hands pulled him from the path of a dagger that surely would have killed him. As he observed her now, pale fingers splayed against the boy's belly to check his breathing, he wondered where she got the strength. He probably weighed twice her weight, especially with the mail and ceremonial robes.

But he couldn't dwell on that, because…just because. It wasn't worth it.

Instead, he looked at her like she was an especially stupid child. "It's called a _sword_ , _Mer_ lyn."

She didn't miss a beat. "You swing more than one kind of sharp, pointy object around his head, _my lord_." Somehow he thought that might be sarcasm. She reached into her bag and pulled out a phial. "Smelling salts," she explained with some distaste, before taking a deep breath and popping the cork open and sticking it under the servant's nose.

The boy sat up almost immediately. Unfortunately, Arthur was standing right in front of his line of sight and, seeing him, the boy promptly fainted again.

Merlyn hummed with bemusement. "I was right! It was you." She looked at him with mischievous glee. "He just couldn't stand the sight of your ugly mug any longer!"

Arthur scowled at her. "Merlyn, kindly _do your job_ and shut up."

She shrugged. "Yes, sire." And she put the smelling salt back in the bag.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked. "I said wake him up!"

"No," now she sounded like she was talking to an infant. "You said 'do your job.' And I am. It's not good to use smelling salts in rapid succession. It can cause an awful headache, and prolonged loss of one's sense of smell, and possibly sight," she recited. Arthur looked at her non-pulsed. "Help me drag him over by that tree, so he's under the shade."

Arthur sighed, and did her one better, lifting the boy in a fireman's carry so they wouldn't have to drag him across the damp earth. Merlyn gave him a surprised look and then a small smile crossed her features. To his surprise, he felt suddenly embarrassed.

"That was kind of you," she said, sounding impressed but honest, and before he could comment on it or react at all, really, she changed the subject. "Is training over for the day, then?"

He frowned. He'd hoped to work on the very basic sets before the tournament, to further cement them in his muscle memory and make sure he wasn't rusty on things. That's why he'd taken his servant—and personal physician—outside the citadel to practice.

He looked at Merlyn speculatively. She was dressed in her usual day-to-day getup, fitted leather leggings and riding boots with a linen tunic cinched at the waist, and her hair pulled back into a braid. She stood before him with her hands fisted on her hips and fire in her eyes.

She could probably hold a sword and shield…

She seemed immediately suspicious.

"Arthur, I don't think—"

"Come now, _Mer_ lyn, I need to practice for the tournament tomorrow, and you're the only one available!"

She scoffed in disgust, "How much help could I _possibly_ be? I know nothing about fighting, and you'll be facing experts!"

He did not flinch at the reminder as his nerves returned, but with them came a renewed interest in making Merlyn uncomfortable.

"His helmet should fit you! All the rest of his armor was just precautionary. I won't actually hit you."

She frowned, looking not at all pleased. "Except on the head!" She objected.

He shrugged. "I'll be gentle," he promised, and he would be. "Come on Merlyn, what are you afraid of?"

A shadow crossed her features but then she sniffed. "Certainly not _you_."

He smirked, "Then you obviously have no problem in helping me train!"

Merlyn sighed and picked up the helmet, setting it atop her head rather clumsily. "Ugh!" She scoffed, utterly unimpressed, "how does one _see_ in this thing?"

"Practice," Arthur told her as he approached. He batted her hands away as she fumbled with the leather latch that kept the helmet in place. He pretended not to notice that she froze as his fingers brushed the skin under her jaw, or that he felt a tiny, _tiny_ thrill at the contact. The helmet would have been a bit loose if not for her plait. He backed away again as soon as it was done, and retrieved the servant's shield while she retrieved the sword.

"Have you ever worked with weapons before?" He asked her, somehow unable to imagine it. He turned to find her fumbling for the sword, unused to having her peripheral vision cut off. Personally, Arthur hated those helmets too.

"No," came the expected reply, her voice echoing against the metal. "And to be honest, I'd much prefer it stayed that way."

Arthur smirked. That was the thing about Merlyn. She was always honest, when it came to her emotions. She didn't hide themwell and they always rang clear as day in her expressive eyes. "Nonsense!" he declared. "everyone should know how to handle a weapon at least a _little_."

And Merlyn was…not unappealing to look at. And she was so small and weak. Hell, she was barely lifting the broadsword.

He remembered chasing her through the marketplace, and when he finally caught her, accidentally lifting her off the ground with almost no effort at all. If she had no way to defend herself, and she came across the wrong type of person…

Well a broadsword wouldn't work. They'd never find one balanced correctly for her. But maybe a set of paired daggers? Something she could conceal?

He shrugged to himself. Next time. Today he was preparing for a tournament in which broadswords would be used.

Merlyn, now outfitted in her helmet, shield and broadsword, stood awkwardly in front of him. Arthur watched as the broadsword slowly dipped down toward the earth, her right hand nearly unable to keep it up. The shield sagged awkwardly against her left arm and shoulder for support. He sighed.

"Here," he said, stepping toward her again. "Drop the shield, and use the sword two-handed. You'll be able to better defend yourself like that anyway. You're too weak to hold a sword and a shield, apparently," he scoffed, so it wouldn't sound so mushy.

He could actually feel Merlyn's glare despite the visor covering her eyes. "I'll be without a shield! How is that safer?"

He rolled his eyes. "You can barely _hold_ the shield, Merlyn, let alone use it." She grunted and let the shield fall off her arm, making her displeasure with the whole situation perfectly known. Her left hand came to grip the handle under her right.

Arthur shook his head. "No, no, dominant hand on the bottom."

"I _am_ left-handed!" she snapped. "I was holding the sword in my right because I'm ambidextrous!"

He blinked at her, genuinely surprised. "I thought the rural communities regarded left-handedness as a bad omen." In other words, _why are you admitting it?_

He could practically _feel_ her eye-roll, and he could see her irritation and discomfort in the tense line of her shoulders and the white-knuckled grip she had on the sword.

"Why do you think I'm ambidextrous?" She asked tensely, and Arthur shook himself. His curiosity was inappropriate, and this was probably a sore subject.

And he really did have a lot of training to do.

"Alright, when I call 'left,' you block like this," he showed her the appropriate counter and she mirrored it clumsily. "When I call 'right,' you do the opposite." She moved her sword to the correct position. "For this set, when I call 'head,' it's going to come from the right. Move your sword like this." He held his sword above his head in the proper deflecting position. She copied him haltingly, arms shaking from the effort of holding the sword aloft.

Some voice in the back of his head whispered that this might not be a good idea, and he promptly told it to shut up.

"Ready?" He asked.

"You could pull the sword out of your ass and I still wouldn't be ready," She told him frankly.

He raised an eyebrow. That attitude just wouldn't do. "I'll have to teach you some respect here, _Mer_ lyn."

She somehow managed to nod sarcastically. "Good luck with that, _sire_."

Honestly, no one should possess this much sass.

"Right," he called, and even going at less-than quarter-speed, she barely got the sword up in time, and it wasn't in the right angle.

"Tilt the sword more," he told her, "left."

This time she got the angle correct, but she was slightly early for him and her sword bounced back a little before she righted it.

"Right," and the angle was, once again, wrong.

"I said _tilt_ your sword, _Mer_ lyn," pushing just a tiny bit harder to prove his point. He still wasn't even going at quarter-strength. He just wanted her to feel why it was necessary. The angle prevented the opponent's sword or one's own from deflecting into one's face or shoulder or neck.

"Left," and she actually managed to do it more or less correct, so he grinned and called "Head."

She gasped in surprise like she'd just remembered that was an option, and flung the sword up wildly in an attempt to stop Arthur's oncoming blade.

Arthur, seeing her horribly off balance and knowing that impacting her sword like that could have some _dire_ consequences, immediately started to halt his descent, but couldn't before his blade met her own.

She gasped and dropped it, stepping away so it didn't land on her feet. He saw her clutch her hands and immediately felt a little seed of guilt before quenching it. Any discomfort she was feeling was her own fault. Arthur had _shown_ her how to do it properly…

"I thought you said you'd be _gentle_." She accused.

"That _was_ gentle," he informed her honestly. "You were holding the sword at the _completely_ wrong angle."

He could _feel_ her scowl. "Fine then." She bent and picked up the sword, but hefting it didn't seem as easy this time. "Again."

Arthur shook his head at her stubbornness. He was starting to think teaching her to fight was a terrible idea. At least, not with a broadsword.

But he could tell she would not be deterred. Living with Morgana had taught him _that_ at least. Stubborn women were not easily swayed.

Fine. "Right." She met him shakily, but at least it was in proper form. "Left." This was a stronger swing, a little shakier before, but again in proper form. "Right," he called, observing carefully to make sure he did not injure her in his swing. She was at the wrong angle again. "Tilt that sword, _Mer_ lyn."

He actually saw her stamp her foot in frustration, and it made him grin. "Left." And, knowing this was her good side, he did not expect her to suddenly completely miss his sword, leaving her clear open for Arthur's strike—

He froze, muscles tensed against his previous momentum and saw his sword poised to take Merlyn at the shoulder. For her part, she hadn't flinched, and the broadsword now hung heavily from her left hand.

He shook his head in disbelief. "You're a brave one, Merlyn." He told her. But because he was Arthur and he didn't really know how to give compliments, he bopped her on the top of her helmet with the flat of his sword.

She fell down to her rear, utterly surprised. "Ow!" She cried. "What was _that_ for?"

"For nearly letting me hit you." He said cockily. "Now come on, Merlyn, let's see if we can't rouse my useless servant."

"You do know his name is Oswald, don't you?" She fumbled with the straps under her jaw, but her fingers were shaking too much from holding the sword to be of any use.

Arthur rolled his eyes, and grabbed her hand, hauling her up before undoing the straps himself.

"'Useless Servant' has a much better ring to it." He lifted the helmet off of her head, and smirked. "Useless Physician is even better though."

She just huffed, and he took her disheveled appearance in for a second. Her hair was frizzed from the helmet, and her cheeks flushed from the exertion, but her eyes were alive with her spirit, and he thought he could possibly detect a secret enjoyment of their banter that he felt himself.

He stepped away. "If you still can't rouse him, you really will be a useless physician," he told her.

She shrugged. "Still better than being a prat."

He frowned at her as she walked toward the tree where the servant rested, and found himself following.

(What both of them failed to realize was Oswald had woken up at a most inopportune moment, with a perfect view of their practice session, just in time to see Arthur hit Merlyn over the head with his sword. He promptly, and very astutely, decided it would be a much safer route if he simply passed out again. He most certainly couldn't be roused five minutes later, even when Merlyn tried the smelling salts on him. No, most certainly not then.)

* * *

"Merlyn, you're incompetent." Arthur declared. Merlyn glared at him.

"I'd like to remind you that this is _not_ my job, sire, and if you hadn't scared poor Oswald into a coma, this would have been him helping you, and not I."

She fumbled with a strap near his wrist and tried to secure it to the chain mail like she'd seen other knights do.

" _You're_ the one who couldn't wake him." He told her, and she smirked triumphantly as the latch finally worked for her.

"But _I'm_ not the one who sent him there in the first place," she told him cheerfully, then put on an expression of mock horror. "Imagine—waking up to see _your_ ugly face!"

He continued to frown, and it surprised her how much she actually missed making him laugh with her sass. "You know the tournament is _today_ , don't you?"

Merlyn blinked. He did not sound amused at all. "Yes, sire." She checked the rest of his armor, making sure it was all in place and not ready to fly off. She took in the stiff shoulders and the set jaw, the tense skin around his eyes, and she came to a startling realization. "Are you nervous?" She asked, honestly surprised.

Arthur swallowed. "I don't get nervous," he declared. She paused.

Gaius had mentioned recently that Arthur was under some rather intense pressure. Maybe…maybe Arthur didn't feel he was _allowed_ to be nervous?

She continued to check his armor, smoothing the mail at his neck so it did not irritate his skin. "Really? I thought everyone got nervous." No response, his jaw just tightened. "Even princes."

 _That_ got a reaction. " _Will_ you _shut up_?" He shouted, his whole body growing tense like a taut string.

She frowned and walked over to the table with the rest of Arthur's attire. Honestly, the mail and armor she understood, but how on earth were the knights benefited in a fight by wearing a cloak?

"It's okay to be nervous, you know," She told him, even knowing his temper was running high, "My mother always said the best way to get over being nervous was to focus on something good."

Arthur didn't seem all that interested in conversation, and he was still tense and breathing hard when she went to drape his cloak around his tall shoulders. She was somewhat stymied by the fact that she was simply too short to reach all the way around him, and had to get a stepping stool before she could finish dressing him. So it surprised her when he questioned softly, "Did she?"

She paused in dressing him just long enough to look into his eyes. He was still tense, terribly so, she could feel it in his shoulders when she moved the cape about him, but there was a soft kind of tenderness in his eyes he probably didn't know he was letting on.

"She did." She told him, pleased she was getting somewhere. "And she also told me being nervous is nothing to be ashamed of. It means you have something to lose, but something to gain as well." She rested a hand on his shoulder when she finished tying his cape. "Being nervous makes you human."

His eyes stiffened again at her words and she frowned, wondering what she could have possibly said to make him close off.

Merlyn patted his shoulder awkwardly and then stepped off of her stool to get Arthur's helmet. He took it stiffly. She looked him over critically, then smiled.

"I think you're set!" She chirped.

Arthur was not so impressed.

"My _sword_ , _Mer_ lyn. I need my _sword_."

"Oh." She said stupidly, "Right, you'll be needing that." Arthur grew tenser by the second, but she finally found it buried beneath his regular leather jacket, and presented it to him.

Arthur turned away, muttering about useless physicians and servants and wondering why he'd been plagued with both.

She just frowned after him, surprised by her own worry, and wondering where the comradery from the day before had gone.

* * *

The competitors entered in order of their arrival, so due to Merlyn's idiocy, he was almost dead last.

The horns blew, and they began to walk forward. Arthur felt his stomach clench, and he fisted his hands to stop them from shaking.

 _I'm not nervous._ He told himself. _I'm not nervous, I'm not nervous._

The muscles in his legs felt alarmingly weak, all the same.

They paused in the center of the arena, lined up in two rows of twelve. Arthur was in the back row, and felt it keenly when Uther shot him a look Arthur interpreted as disappointment.

Absently, he wondered what his father would think of Merlyn's advice, and then thought better of it.

His father swept onto the arena floor, grand and powerful in a way Arthur hoped to emulate one day. Now, he knew, he had to prove himself worthy enough to even try.

"Knights of the realm," his father began, "It's a great honor to welcome you to the tournament at Camelot. Over the next three days you will come to put your bravery to the test, your skills as warriors, and of course, to challenge the reigning champion—my son, Prince Arthur."

At that, Arthur felt the steel bands that were his nerves tighten, and was only distracted by a knight in yellow, whom he did not recognize, turning to look at him consideringly.

Arthur met his gaze, but the knight looked unimpressed when he turned back to front all the same.

The prince refrained from scowling, but just barely. He was obviously a knight from far beyond Camelot—possibly Nemeth or Mercia, if the cloak was to be taken into consideration—and it was incredibly rude to have turned _all the way around_ to look at Arthur while Uther continued to speak. Not to mention, his outright dismissal of Arthur, and all the insult that came with that.

His nerves settled a little, and he wondered if Merlyn wasn't right when she said to focus on something else.

Well, she'd said to focus on something good, but no matter.

And, he remembered, it was not Merlyn's advice but her _mother's_.

He clamped down on that train of thought right away, and refocused on what the king was saying.

"Only one can have the honor of being crowned champion," Arthur wondered if his father would have said that if he knew how it affected Arthur's nerves. "And he will receive a prize of one thousand gold pieces." The tournament attendant opened the chest carrying the gold, somewhat dramatically.

Arthur didn't care about the gold. He was more worried about being able to look his father in the eye at dinner for the next few months.

"It is in combat that we learn a knight's true nature," the king continued. "whether he is indeed a warrior or a coward."

 _I'm not a coward, Father,_ Arthur thought, and hoped to the gods above that it was true. _I will win, I promise!_

"Let the tournament begin!"

Most of the knights filed out of the arena. But Arthur was the first to fight, and so he remained.

His father sidled up to Arthur, and placed a heavy hand on his back. "I trust you will make me proud," he whispered, and Arthur felt the weight of expectation settle even heavier in his gut as his nerves turned his body against him.

The king walked off, to take his place in the stands, and Arthur removed his cloak for the ring attendant.

The knight in front of him was not from Camelot. The Coat of Arms indicated a house in Escetia, and Arthur knew he could _not_ lose this fight—not without making Camelot look weak to one of its most hostile neighbors.

Not to mention, losing in the first round would be…unbearably embarrassing.

Unexpectedly, Merlyn's voice floated back to him. _'Being nervous makes you human.'_

 _Well that's all well and good,_ Arthur wanted to tell her, _but what if you can't afford to be human?_

But that wasn't a worthy thought either, and he replaced his helmet.

The fight was short and bloodless. Arthur finished him easily, and without killing his opponent, which was always a plus. These fights were dangerous, but Arthur didn't like killing. Even if it was necessary sometimes.

The best part though, was when he removed his helmet and saw his father smiling, Morgana smiling and even reluctantly _clapping_ for him, and off by the entrance…

Off by the entrance, Merlyn was clapping and smiling for him like everyone else.

* * *

"Knight Valiant looks pretty handy with a sword," Merlyn commented. Arthur had won three fights, and Knight Valliant the same amount. The other man, though, seemed infinitely more vicious than Arthur.

On the field, Merlyn could see why everyone thought Arthur to be so great. He moved gracefully, and skillfully cut down his opponents without using unnecessary movements or unnecessary bloodshed. It made her…it made her proud of him. In a weird sort of way.

Knight Valiant was Arthur's complete opposite. He moved aggressively, causing as much damage as possible with every hit, and it was…disturbing, how much he seemed to thrill in his opponents' downfall. She could see the bloodlust in his eyes even from a distance. It was written into the edge of his blade.

Arthur peered at her imperiously. "Why are you even here?" He asked, obviously still in a bad mood.

"I'm your personal physician," she told him, "I'm on reserve." She gave him a questioning look. "It should be your greatest wish that you never have to use my knowledge and skills." Now she made her expression open and earnest. "Do you have a death wish?"

Arthur spluttered. "What? No!" He huffed. "Don't you have somewhere to be? Go study herbs or something."

She waved a hand and patted her bag. "I do enough of that when I train with Gaius. And I carry a medical text around for when I get bored."

Arthur glared and fidgeted with a strap on his armor. "Oscar!" He yelled, "My shoulder-plate is loose!"

Merlyn rolled her eyes. "I _told_ you, his name is Oswald."

The skittish boy approached hesitantly, and bowed. "I'll get that right away, sire."

Arthur huffed and allowed the boy to fix the strap. He reminded her of a two-year-old.

She wondered if she should risk inflating his ego by complimenting his performance in the ring. Probably not—she didn't want to get in the habit of rewarding him for bad behavior.

Merlin frowned. When _exactly_ had she become Prince Arthur's mother…?

A loud group approached Arthur's tent. Each knight had a place to store their equipment. Prince Arthur being Prince Arthur, he had a tent. She'd ribbed him about it for days.

The group approaching was, she noted, led by Sir Valiant.

…And now her attention was focused solely on him.

Especially when he stopped in front of Arthur and gave him a condescending look.

She felt oddly protective. Maybe it was because she knew Arthur was feeling some pretty heavy pressure today, or because she'd seen a softer side of him the day before, when he'd taught her how to hold a sword. Kind of. Well, he'd been stubborn enough to try.

"May I offer you my congratulations on your victories today?" Knight Valiant said arrogantly. Her eyes narrowed. He was _very_ confident if he felt comfortable approaching the prince of the realm he was fighting a tournament in.

Arthur, apparently having more practice in deflecting the insincere compliments of the upper-class, just returned a brusque, "Likewise."

Apparently deciding he wasn't going to get anywhere with the Prince, the intrusive knight turned to leave. "I hope to see you at the reception this evening," and for the briefest of moments, the knight's eyes flicked to Merlyn as he spoke.

She kept her face blank, and glared as he left.

"Creep." She growled. Behind her, Arthur took a deep breath and she was surprised to see something resembling anger in his eyes.

"Aye, I wouldn't want to cross blades with him," Oswald piped in from behind the Prince. They both turned to look at him and Oswald squeaked when he caught the Prince's eye.

Merlyn slapped Arthur lightly on the shoulder, aware that the mail was going to make this hurt more for her than him if she did it too hard.

"Arthur, what have I told you about looking at Oswald. Your face scares him!"

The prince turned to her, and she saw him relax a little. "How do you know it's not _your_ face he's scared of?"

She rolled her eyes. "Please, I'm perfectly angelic," she declared. "You, on the other hand, could peel paint!"

"Merlyn?"

She smiled sweetly. "Yes, sire?"

"Shut up."

"Of course, sire." And she was vindicated when she saw the rest of the anger drain from Arthur's eyes.

He was apparently in a better mood, because he immediately started giving Oswald a tremendous list of chores.

She felt pity for the poor servant, she really did. But when he looked at her with desperate eyes and mouthed 'help me,' what did he really expect? She wasn't a _miracle_ worker. It's not like _she_ could actually get Arthur to be _nice_.

* * *

Sometimes Merlyn didn't study magic down in the cave with Kilgharrah. Sometimes she brought one of Gaius' tomes on botany and herbs, and read that instead. Gaius wasn't kidding when he said medicine required a lot of study. And to make matters worse, the material required constant review even after you'd learned it. Gaius said the repetitive recall would help her cement the basics in her mind, and eventually it would become instinctive knowledge, how the body reacted to this herb or that herb, what a normal heart-rate was for this size male and that size female, etcetera.

But for now, she was stuck reading and reviewing nigh endless information, and Gaius' chambers could be a bit loud. So, to save herself the headache and to actually get some studying done, she often took the books down into Kilgharrah's cave.

She had to be careful about when she did it though. There were certain times of day when the corridor leading down here was busy, and it would be extraordinarily suspicious if she were caught wandering in the lower bowels of the castle. Having the medical texts provided a good excuse, but she would still be sent packing, and it would become _that much harder_ to get back.

"Arthur's doing well in the tournament," she informed Kilgharrah as soon as she reached the empty cavern, knowing he could hear her. She folded herself onto the dusty ground and enchanted her torch to hover above her while she read—a handy spell Kilgharrah suggested her first night studying magic that didn't require a constant drain of energy like her instinctive levitation did.

The great rush of wings was familiar now, and Kilgharrah perched on the rock in front of her. She got the feeling he was quite uncertain about what to do with her, but so far had made for interesting company. Helpful, too, in magic and surprisingly in the healing arts. She supposed when you were a millennia-old dragon, you picked up a thing or two about the world.

"Is that so?" Kilgharrah asked, in a tone that didn't really convey interest. "You'll have to congratulate him for me."

She smirked as she read a passage about the musculature of the human arm. "I'm sure that will go over well. 'Hey Arthur, you know the Great Dragon? He says to tell you hello. And good job with the sword skills, he's sure that will come in handy down the line.'"

Kilgharrah gave her a withering look—or at least what passed for one when one was a giant reptile. "Your sarcasm is unnecessary, little witch." Kilgharrah shuffled his wings, as he was wont to do. "And I'm sure it will 'come in handy,' down the road. It is good that Arthur is able to defend himself."

She spared him a bemused look. "Hang on, I thought _I_ was Arthur's _great protector_ in your destiny mumbo-jumbo."

Now the dragon looked rather put-upon. "You _are_. From grand threats, you are Arthur's best and only protection. From lesser ones…" Kilgharrah made a motion that made Merlyn wonder if dragons could shrug. "…from lesser threats, Arthur must be able to protect himself."

Merlyn thought of Arthur on the field, dressed in red and swinging a sword like it was welded to his arm. "Trust me, he's got that covered."

Kilgharrah _humphed_ , and Merlyn was instantly reminded of Grandpa Blackwell, back in Ealdor. She thought better of voicing it, however.

There was a lull in the conversation, and Merlyn went back to learning about where to poke what to get whichever reaction out of whoever's arm.

"Tell me, Merlyn." The dragon started, "Do you still deny your destiny is to serve as Arthur's protector?"

She blinked and looked up at him, pausing in her reading. "I don't know what my destiny is," she answered honestly, "and frankly, the idea of the destiny you've described scares me." She shrugged. "What would the unification of Albion even look like? Is Arthur going to dethrone his fellow rulers? How would that make him deserving of the title? What would give him any right to rule then? All he would do is incite chaos. The people would follow him out of fear, and then he'd be no better than his tyrant father."

Merlyn turned another page in her book, and she could tell she had Kilgharrah's complete attention."I would never serve a king like that wholeheartedly. And I don't much like the idea of being spiritually bonded to one either. Also," she continued, warming to her subject, "Arthur would have to change pretty drastically for any of that to happen. He may be a bully, but he's not pure evil," she thought of his patient instruction on the sword. No, Arthur was not really evil at all. Just stupid. And a prat. And—

"So are you denying that you have a destiny at all?" Kilgharrah asked, a bit bemused.

Melryn turned another page. "Look. All I know is what's in front of me. I'm currently one of Arthur's attendants. It's my job to look after his physical well-being. If that leads to this destiny you've spoken of, then that's fine. But I'm not going to make choices to deliberately get there. I'm not going to sacrifice everything for a future I'm not sure I want. I'm just going to do what's right, whenever I'm given the option. That way I won't have regrets." She turned back to the book. "If Destiny has our lives so set in stone, we'll get there anyway."

Kilgharrah did not say anything for a while, and then he snorted.

"Merlyn," He said almost fondly, "I can honestly say I've never met someone quite like you before."

She didn't stop reading this time. "I'm not sure that's a compliment."

Kilgharrah didn't answer. With a chuckle he took off, soaring up into the caverns that imprisoned him.

* * *

It was tradition that all the remaining competitors should have a chance to meet with King Uther and his household after the day's events.

Arthur watched from the back of the line. Being the prince, he obviously already knew his father and his household. He was to go last, to be respectful of their guests.

It was because he was in the back of the line that he saw Valiant suck up to his father and then… _flirt_ with _Morgana_.

Arthur tamped down on his anger. Not four hours ago Valiant was making eyes at _Mer_ lyn, of all people, and now he was openly flirting with Morgana? Was there no end to this man's arrogance?

There was a small voice in the back of his head sounding suspiciously like Merlyn which sassed about how hypocritical that last thought was.

He told the voice to _'kindly shut up, Merlyn,'_ and fumed in line.

Arthur was only gratified by the fact that Merlyn had seemed almost insulted by the attention. Morgana, on the other hand…Morgana looked rather pleased.

His father greeted him informally, but brusquely. "Arthur."

"Father."

…he tried not to be hurt by the fact that he'd talked to strangers longer than his own son.

With Morgana it was not so. Unfortunately.

She glanced over at the group of competitors. "They all seem rather impressed by Knight Valiant," she purred.

Two could play at that game. "They're not the only ones," he stated rather pointedly.

She seemed pleased. "You're not jealous are you?" She asked with mock concern.

"I don't see there's anything to be jealous of."

Which, for the most part, was true. Arthur had no desire to be the kind of man who lost himself to bloodlust, and kill men who might have lived otherwise. He had no desire to be the rude, pompous man Merlyn had reacted so badly to.

…But even he knew he'd be lying to himself if he claimed he did not crave his father's approval, or to have the king look him in the eye, for once.

* * *

The next morning, Merlyn found herself confronted by what was quite possibly the most skittish servant to ever grace the walls of Camelot.

"Oswald, what are you doing here?" she asked when she opened the door to Gaius' chambers to attend to Arthur that morning. The servant was sitting near the wall with his arms wrapped around his legs and his forehead resting on his knees across from Gaius' chambers.

The boy's panicked eyes snapped up. "I've just experienced the most horrible thing!" He exclaimed. "I was in the armory, collecting the prince's equipment, and I heard _hissing_." The boy shuddered. "But it gets worse! I followed the sound, and I saw Sir Valiant's shield. It has snakes on it." Now tears were showing in his dark brown eyes. "And then Sir Valiant showed up." He gulped. "He put a sword to my chest!"

Merlyn's eyes widened, and Oswald simply stared at her. "And?" She prompted, hoping for the rest of the story.

Now a slightly ashamed look crossed the boy's face. "And…then I fainted," he admitted. "I missed the sword rack though, so that's something."

She nodded, hiding a smile. "Indeed." She put her hands on her hips. "So? Why come to _me_ about it?"

Oswald stood now, rather excitedly. "You have to tell Prince Arthur!" He declared.

Merlyn blinked. "Tell him…what, exactly? That Valiant's a prick? Trust me, he already knows." She'd gleaned that much from the way Arthur had glared after him yesterday.

Oswald gaped. "But he listens to you! He'll be more careful if you tell him to!"

She shook her head again, somewhat flattered but oddly disturbed by the boy's perception. "Arthur doesn't listen to me. Arthur listens to his ego."

Oswald gestured widely. "But he pays attention to you!" He said earnestly, "And if you tell him to be careful, he will be."

Merlyn shrugged. What was the harm. "Alright, I'll tell him to be careful around Sir Valiant. But really, Oswald, I wouldn't expect anything special to come of it."

The servant visibly relaxed, and Merlyn found it somewhat endearing that he was so concerned for a man who obviously scared the living daylights out of him.

Speaking of…

"Come on, Oswald, we wouldn't want to be late for the prince. And on the way, we really need to talk about this fainting issue, it's becoming an automatic reflex for you…"

* * *

Arthur didn't see Merlyn much the morning of the second tournament. She arrived at his chambers with his manservant, and then disappeared as he got dressed.

(He tried not to question why it was the two of them arrived together. Surely they weren't…?)

He saw her again, briefly, as he entered the arena for the first time that day, around noon. She grabbed his arm and wished him good luck.

 _And no,_ he told the voice in his head that sounded like Morgana, _he did not feel warmer because of it_.

His fight that morning was rather easy. He'd expected things to get significantly harder, but with his first-day nerves settled, he was feeling much stronger.

Merlyn walked up to him after the fight with a smile on her face. She opened her mouth to say something and then there was a great gasp from the crowd. He turned with her toward the arena, and from their platform they could see one of the combatants was down, and not moving.

"I better get down there to help Gaius—he looks badly hurt," she told him.

"Don't hurry back," he called after her, and felt strangely irritated when she left without a comeback.

And this probably meant she wouldn't see his next match.

He turned away, disgusted, only to find his servant staring at him with a stupid expression.

"Well?" He asked gruffly, "What are you looking at? Don't you have chores to do?"

The servant 'eeped' and scurried off. Arthur didn't particularly care, so long as the boy didn't faint on him again. Honestly, every time he did it just gave Merlyn more ammunition. It was almost like they planned it…

* * *

With the help of a stretcher and some sturdy ring-crew men, she and Gaius managed to remove the injured party from the arena rather quickly.

"How is it, Gaius?" She asked the old physician when she returned to their chambers with a bucket of water.

"Most odd," Gaius replied, which was honestly not the response she'd been expecting. "Look here." Gnarled fingers pointed to the man's neck. "Snake bite. You'll have read about them in Archibald's _Theories on Natural External Ailments?_ "

She nodded, trying to recall the information. "We have to make an antidote from the venom." She said confidently. "And…how do we do that, exactly?"

Gaius gave her a measured look that told her she'd only kind of passed. "We'll need to extract venom from the snake that bit him." Gaius removed himself to one of his many tables.

Merlyn frowned and considered the injured knight before her. "But how was he bitten in the first place? He was fighting in the tournament when he fell ill."

Gaius shrugged. "I have no idea, but unless we can find out what snake bit him, there's nothing we can do for him."

She looked at the knight forlornly, wondering if this was what she had to look forward to as a physician. "Who was he fighting?" She asked absently—the victor would probably face Arthur in the finals…

"Valiant," Gaius replied. Merlyn stiffened.

Oswald mentioned snakes, that Sir Valiant threatened him when he approached his equipment…

…He said he'd heard _hissing_.

She was out the door before Gaius knew she'd moved.

* * *

Finding Sir Valiant was easy enough. The man made no bones about where he stayed. And he wasn't even smart enough to fully close his door as he fed the monsters.

He heard her as she left, but he didn't pursue her beyond the first corridor. Honestly, no wonder he had to use magic to win, he'd never succeed otherwise. One too many knocks to the head, most likely.

Convincing Gaius was easy too. The hard part was when he asked for _proof_.

"I _saw_ it; doesn't that count for anything?"

"Not when it's your word against a knight's," Gaius said bluntly. "The king would never accept a common girl going against a well-favored knight, not even one he's practically named a future council member. He'd never listen to your appeal, not without solid proof."

Merlyn nearly growled in frustration. "Arthur would believe me though," And she wasn't quite sure why she was so certain of that when she'd told Oswald the opposite this very morning.

"Even if he believed you, and I'm not sure he would, his only proof would be your word!" Gaius gestured widely, as if trying to figure out why Merlyn was so terribly stupid sometimes. "Arthur would be acting solely on the word of a commoner, and Uther would crucify him for it. You'd be setting the prince up for failure and embarrassment."

Part of her wanted to say he could do with some of both, but then she remembered his eyes the day before, when the tournament hadn't yet started, and decided he didn't deserve either.

"So what are we to do?" She asked quietly, looking at the dying man on Gaius' bed.

"I don't know, Merlyn," Gaius said tiredly, "I don't know…"

* * *

Arthur tried to steel his nerves for the afternoon's match. It was hard, with his twitchy servant scurrying around him like a scared rabbit.

He could see his opponent from across the preparation area. The man was absolutely massive—Arthur, standing at full height, just barely reached the middle of his arm.

"You sure you want to fight that?" He heard a familiar voice ask. "Because he seems rather terrifying."

Arthur did not turn to face her. "Yep, and he's big as an ox." But suddenly this didn't seem daunting, it seemed exciting. A challenge.

He bounced a little on the balls of his feet, trying to get his blood flowing.

"But he's slow," Merlyn commented, "And I believe you're supposed to be fast?"

He blinked in surprise and the manservant paused in his ministrations to peer at the newcomer. "Exactly." He said, honestly baffled. He hadn't thought Merlyn was quite that observant. Especially not about fighting.

He felt the pressure of her hand on his left shoulder through the mail. "Good luck then," she said brightly. "I'm sure you won't die. And if you're injured I get to practice on you."

He frowned and looked at her. "How reassuring," he muttered dryly. Merlyn heard it anyway and grinned.

If he found himself smiling as he entered the arena, well, no one could see through the helmet well enough to comment on it anyway.

He did, however, notice that Merlyn took up her customary spot at the arena entrance.

He also noticed that she cheered the loudest when he brought the giant down.

Arthur exited the arena, and Merlyn grinned at him as he approached.

"Aw," she whined mockingly, "no new patients to practice on."

He rolled his eyes and passed his helmet and sword of to the servant.

Maybe he should learn his name. He was quite certain the boy was called something with a P. Or perhaps an S?

Well, it was the latter half of the alphabet, anyway.

"Don't you _have_ a patient," he remembered suddenly, realizing no word had spread of the fallen knight. "How is he?"

Merlyn's face immediately darkened, and Arthur almost felt sorry bringing it up. Almost. "Not good. He was bitten by a snake."

Behind him, the servant gasped, and Merlyn nodded meaningfully at him.

Arthur wondered why this was significant and was about to ask if it had anything to do with why they'd shown up at his chambers together this morning, when the combatants for the next round approached the arena.

Sir Valiant was among them, and Arthur felt a surge of… _something_ as Valiant's eyes flicked to Merlyn, lingering for just a moment too long to be appropriate or platonic in nature.

It was almost…predatory, the look in that man's eyes as he gazed at Arthur's personal physician. And Arthur was decidedly not okay with it.

He wasn't sure what, exactly, he would have done at that point, but he felt a delicate hand on his arm. He turned to its owner and found an uncharacteristically calculating look in Merlyn's eyes, normally so cheerful and full of mischief, she now focused on Valiant with suspicion and something that might be approaching disgust.

"Be careful around Sir Valiant, Arthur." She told him quietly. "He's…off."

He knew he agreed, that he should be happy Merlyn's judgment of Valiant's character matched his own, but there was something distinctly painful about having Merlyn tell him another man was more dangerous than himself.

They removed themselves from the arena to his tent, the manservant following hesitantly behind them and somehow being even more obtrusive that way.

Merlyn, he'd found out almost as soon as she started working for him, had a terrible sense of balance, and could hardly walk across a flat, stable surface without tripping. On any given excursion, Arthur found himself catching her by the arm at least twice, and setting her to rights while insulting her femininity.

On their way back to the tent, Merlyn tripped and nearly fell three times, but nothing in Arthur felt like teasing her, and something about Merlyn's somber countenance made him think the teasing wouldn't be appreciated on that front either.

Normally he wouldn't have heeded such an instinct. Today he felt that same foreboding in himself, and couldn't quite shake it enough to tease her.

A cheer rose from the stadium, loud enough to be heard from the towers of the citadel.

With a sense of anger and irritation, Arthur watched the ring steward raise Valiant's Coat of Arms in the matchboard.

Suddenly there were two small hands holding his own sword-calloused one. He looked down into blue eyes and an earnest face.

"Be careful Arthur," Merlyn told him. "Valiant is…more dangerous than I can say."

He wondered at her behavior. Had something happened? Had Valiant…approached her? With threats? Had he _propositioned_ her?

Whatever the reason, Merlyn seemed very determined that Valiant should be known as someone to avoid. She was trying to protect Arthur, in her own way, and he appreciated it.

"I'll be careful," He promised. And then he had to break the mood, because it was simply too serious. "Don't be such a _girl_ , _Mer_ lyn."

She let go of his hands immediately and lightly whacked him on the arm. "Prat. I _am_ a girl." she returned, but he thought the corners of her mouth were doing their very best to lift into a smile.

* * *

Arthur was more than a little surprised when Merlyn decided to join him after dinner. He was nursing a goblet of wine, trying to rid himself of the tension headache behind his eyes, when she came bursting in.

"Don't you ever knock?" He asked wearily, not quite having the energy to keep up his usual fervor.

"No." She hesitated. That set warning bells off in Arthur's mind. Three weeks he'd known this girl, and two of those were spent in near-constant company. She did not hesitate. Not ever.

…or not often, apparently.

"I need you to listen to me with a clear head," she told him, "Can you do that?"

He raised an eyebrow, and she took that as a sign to continue.

"This morning, Oswald came to me quite upset because he heard hissing in the armory. He followed the sound and it led him to Valiant's equipment. Unfortunately for him, Valiant was there and put a sword to him. Oswald passed out and came immediately to me, as far as I could tell." She paused. "He was very worried about you, but I mostly dismissed his concerns at the time. I thought it odd, but I had no idea what it meant.

"Then Sir Ewan was brought in this morning, and we realized he'd been bitten by a snake. Eventually, I realized Sir Ewan had been fighting Valiant and remembered Oswald's story about the hissing equipment. I followed Valiant, and saw him feeding mice to snakes coming out of his shield, like an extension of his Coat of Arms. They looked as real as you or I, but I couldn't tell anyone who could do anything about it because I had no proof."

Her face grew determined. "Then you both advanced to the next round of the tournament. As your personal physician, I took it upon myself to…investigate." She pulled something out from behind her, and Arthur was surprised to see her produce a snake head. She placed it on the table so he could get a better look. "I entered Valiant's chambers while you were dining. He left his shield there. The snakes came alive and I cut the head off. I brought it to Gaius first, to collect the venom and wake Ewan, and then I came here. Once he wakes up we'll have his testimony to go along with the snakehead as proof of Valiant's use of magic and his attempted murder." She paused, looking suddenly unsure. "Well? What do you think? Will it convince the king?"

Arthur blinked, trying to take it all in. "You're saying you think Valiant is using magic to win…and you want me to accuse him on your behalf?"

"Only if you believe it," Merlyn snapped indignantly, "Which you should. Valiant's cheating, and he almost killed a better knight than him." Her eyes hardened. "And if you're not very careful, Arthur, he might kill you tomorrow too."

In the corner of the room, his servant dropped a box with a gasp. Arthur picked up the snakehead incredulously. "You're saying _you_ cut this thing's head off?" He was having a hard time imagining Merlyn swinging a sword with enough grace and power to sever the head so cleanly. Merlyn, who could barely lift a broadsword with two hands. Who kept falling over flat surfaces.

"Yes, it was me." She waved a hand as if to brush his concern away, and then stepped forward. "Look, that's not the important part. Do you believe me or not?"

Arthur pretended to mull it over. "Hm. Not, I think."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Arthur rolled his eyes at her and stood. "Just because I don't like him, it doesn't mean he's cheating." Much as it pained him to admit, Valliant did have considerable fighting ability.

She shook her head, obviously frustrated with him. "When Ewan wakes, that will prove that the snake that bit him was this one," she argued, pointing to the severed head. "And I can prove through my own testimony that the snake came from Valiant's shield. It should be easy to do otherwise, as well. There are no snakes like that in Camelot—"

"Merlyn, your testimony won't be enough—"

"But Ewan's _will_." She exclaimed breathlessly. She took a step closer, and now they were only separated by a few feet. "Arthur. If you fight Valiant tomorrow, you'll die. He'll use the snakes on you and you'll die. He can't beat you any other way."

And it felt…good, to have such unwavering faith placed in him. Warmth spread through his fingers and he had to wonder if it was the wine or her simple belief in him that did the trick.

"Let me see the snake," he sighed. Her argument at least deserved to be humored. She picked it up and handed it to him wordlessly. To his surprise, it wasn't a snake he recognized—and he knew all the wildlife in Camelot. This one was…unlike any he'd ever seen, from Camelot or otherwise.

"Look, I'm just a fresh physician's apprentice," she told him, "my word counts for very little, especially in the eyes of the king. But it's my job to look after you and make sure you _don't die_. I wouldn't lie to you. Not about this."

Her eyes were huge as she pleaded with him to simply believe her, and something in him softened. It would be hard, living as a commoner when one was as spirited and opinionated as Merlyn.

But perhaps…perhaps he could speak for her. On one condition.

"Swear it's true," he ordered.

"I swear," She responded without hesitation, like she'd been expecting it.

Arthur nodded, taken aback by the honesty and readiness in her eyes. "Then I believe you." Then he froze. "Wait. Did you say you checked his chambers during dinner?"

Merlyn nodded. "Yes, why?"

Arthur cursed under his breath. "Valiant left early from dinner. I'm amazed he didn't run into you."

Her eyes widened in memory. "There was…someone in the corridor, I think. Leading to Valiant's room."

Arthur stepped closer to her. "Would he have seen you?" Arthur asked, suddenly worried. "Was there any way?"

She nodded, biting her lip. "If it was him, he must have seen me in the corridor. There's no way to prove I was in his room but…yes, he saw me."

Arthur cursed. "That means he's covering his tracks." He turned to the nervous servant in the corner. "Warn Gaius about the possibility of snakes running around in his chambers. Tell him not to leave Sir Ewan unattended. And you," he turned now to Merlyn. "You should not return to your chambers tonight. It's too dangerous. You can sleep in the servant's quarters adjacent to my room." Then he flushed, realizing how that sounded. "Actually no, you might wake me with your snoring. You can stay in the servant's quarters adjacent to Morgana's rooms. Yes. Morgana's. You'll have to explain the situation to her though."

Merlyn shrugged and smiled impishly, in a way that implied she knew he was covering up the fact that he cared, at least a little, about what happened to Merlyn.

There was a moment, Arthur thought, where her cheeks glowed with triumph and amusement, where he thought something more than the normal master-attendant relationship glowed between them.

Then the door slammed as his idiot manservant left and the moment was gone.

She took a step back, toward the door. "I'd better go explain things to Morgana," she hedged, and he got the odd sense that she was reluctant to leave.

"I'll gather the court in an hour. Bring Morgana, her support would help."

She nodded. "I'll do my best to convince her." She hesitated at the doorway, and turned. "It'll be alright, Arthur. I'm not going to let anything happen to my only permanent patient."

He rolled his eyes. "Go. We don't have much time."

She laughed, and the door shut behind her.

"Good luck," he muttered, fumbling with the snakehead.

Well it was only right to return her favor from earlier.

* * *

Convincing Morgana turned out to be a little more difficult than Merlyn was expecting in the end. As it turned out, the king's ward rather fancied Valiant, and was a bit disappointed that he was a cheating, scum-lined fleabag (Merlyn's words, not Morgana's).

In the end though, it came down to the fact that Merlyn had no reason to lie, and Valiant had every reason to cheat. Plus, Arthur's life hung in the balance. Merlyn was pretty sure that was part of Morgana's acceptance. Probably.

Either way, Merlyn, Morgana and Gwen entered the courtroom together, a quarter-hour before Arthur's was to commence court.

Merlyn was admittedly nervous. She'd never seen the full court assembled for a trial before. But she was also confident. Valiant had been making her skin crawl for days, and now he was going to go down for it.

Oswald appeared beside her, skittish and quiet as always, but with a grin on his face. "Sir Ewan has woken. Gaius sent me to get some herbs from the apothecary so he can make a tincture to further strengthen him, but I thought I'd let you know first."

Merlyn nodded, smiling. "That's good news. I'll tell Arthur when he arrives. Go get those herbs."

And Oswald scampered off, happy as a clam to be involved only peripherally.

Morgana glanced at her sidelong. "Do you think it will work?" She asked quietly.

Merlyn did not react, except to say "It has to."

Arthur arrived five minutes after that, and looked relieved to hear the second testimony would indeed arrive on time.

"You might have to testify," he told her somewhat warily, "and if you do, explain everything to my father as you did to me."

She nodded at him, determination filling her. "I will."

He squeezed her shoulder, his large hand dwarfing her, and stepped forward to the center of the room.

It was one of those rare moments where Merlyn could honestly say he looked like a prince.

His long coat trailed the ground where he stood, billowing around him even with slight movements. His face could be carved from stone, and as the members of court entered they parted around him, like waves breaking on a rock.

Merlyn cheered him on silently. He was a complete and utter prat, but there was something about him that awoke every protective instinct in her, that made her want to guide him and take care of him, show him what real, unconditional kindness meant. Because the longer she stayed here, and the longer she was at his side, the less she thought he had ever really experienced those things before.

And yes, Arthur could be a narcissistic asshole a good portion of the time, but he was not _only_ that. In the last two weeks she'd glimpsed things underneath Arthur's exterior that made her think he deserved much more in the way of love than he got.

It took a full five minutes for every courtier to file in. Last was Uther, and trailing behind him like the faithful ass-kisser he was, there was Valiant.

Merlyn raised an eyebrow. She hadn't realized Uther and Valiant were such bosom buddies. Figures. Like tends to like, and all that.

This…may be harder than she was expecting, and a great deal more uncomfortable.

Finally, everyone assembled, Arthur had free reign to begin.

"My friends, I've gathered you today in order to perform the unpleasant but necessary duty of reporting a crime of a fellow knight of the realm." He waited for the gasps that flew around the room. "Sir Valiant," Arthur spoke steadily, "I hereby accuse you of the crime of using enchanted objects—not only in the kingdom of Camelot itself, where such things are banned, but also in the context of a tournament. This item is your shield, which can be manipulated to manifest a breed of snake heretofore unseen in Camelot. You used it for the first time against Sir Ewan, this morning, who is currently being revived by the Court Physician, Gaius. You have been connected to the incident in question and the magic through the observations of several people, and Sir Ewan's own testimony will also confirm my claim."

No one spoke for several heavy moments. Arthur didn't blink, and Merlyn felt an unexpected rush of pride for him.

Finally, Uther spoke quietly, but it was not with equal pride or shock, but rather disdain. "What proof do you have of these accusations, other than Sir Ewan's testimony?"

Arthur produced the snakehead. "This was retrieved by my personal physician, Merlyn. While working on Sir Ewan's case this morning, she and Gaius noted that Ewan was downed by a snake bite, rather than a sword wound. After some investigation, Merlyn managed to decapitate one of the snakes from Sir Valiant's shield and brought it to Gaius, who was able to make a working antidote, thus proving the snake that bit Sir Ewan and the snake from Valliant's shield must be the same, or the cure would have failed."

The prince handed the evidence off to his father, who inspected it. Sir Valiant, she noted, peered over Uther's shoulder to try and get a better look. Uther held it up so the knight could see it better.

It was a rather sickening display, to be honest.

"Your physician is a commoner," Uther said finally, almost reluctantly, as if irritated at having to acknowledge the logic of his son's argument. "how do you know she is not lying?"

She saw Arthur stiffen now, as well as Morgana. "I believe she tells the truth," Arthur said simply.

Morgana stepped forward. "My lord, I also believe in Merlyn's integrity. She would not falsely accuse anyone. And besides," She said smiling, "Merlyn would have no reason to lie. There is nothing she gets out of Sir Valiant's conviction."

Uther nodded slowly, and then looked up from the snakehead. "Physician Merlyn, step forward to give witness."

"Yes, my lord."

And Merlyn did so, with minimal numbness. She also had fewer embellishments than the rendition she'd given to Arthur. It was necessary. Looking at Uther now, it was hard to reconcile this very human man with the monster she'd observed her first day in Camelot. Where was he hiding his inner demon? Why this farce where Uther pretended to be a person of morals and conscience, who deprived his son of affection and love? She didn't understand, and as she relayed her story, she thought perhaps she never would.

When she was finished, Uther's eyebrows were raised in absolute shock.

"If your story is true, then Gaius is indeed correct—you are quite clever, my girl." Merlyn's skin crawled at the subtle endearment. "If it is untrue, and you have wickedly provided false testimony, then you remain cunning."

"I assure you, my lord," the words were ashes in her mouth, "I have not provided false testimony. I simply pursued thoroughly the task commissioned to me by you yourself, your majesty."

Gasps were heard around the room at her audacity, and she thought Arthur made a strange choking sound behind her.

Uther did not look nearly so pleased now. "Which is?"

"To protect the health and welfare of Prince Arthur." A pause "My lord."

Uther's mouth twitched and she felt slightly disgusted at having amused this vile man.

"Indeed it is. I wonder, however, if you have not taken this charge too far and accused an honest man of a crime in an endeavor to protect your prince."

Whispered murmurs.

"I fully believe in Prince Arthur's ability to protect _himself_ and to win in a fair fight, and especially when faced with long odds," she responded, "But anyone who faces Sir Valiant as he is currently equipped is at a  _complete_ disadvantage, and must either lose or meet certain death."

She made sure to hold eye contact with the knight in question, and was gratified when he looked away first.

Uther seemed to be swayed towards their side, but kept on sending Sir Valiant a commiserating look, which was returned with false modesty. She did not like the exchange at all. Finally, the doors flung open, and Gaius strode in.

Her heart sank at the look on his face.

"I regret to inform you," he said solemnly, "that the witness, Sir Ewan, has succumbed to a second snakebite, of the same kind as the first."

Her mind spun as she realized—they had no one else who could claim to have seen the snakes. No one except her, and her testimony would not be acceptable proof on its own.

She turned to Uther. "My lord, this just corroborates our claim." She said deliberately, slowly, trying to force the cogs in her brain to turn fast enough to get an explanation out before she was silenced. "The odds of Sir Ewan being bitten for a _second_ time in a _different_ location by the _same type_ of previously unseen breed of snake, immediately after having received an antidote when Gaius was somehow unaware of the snake's presence are incredibly low. All that, and the timing of the incident? Right when he would have been called to give testimony? It strongly indicates something more than a tragic accident."

She could tell Uther was suspicious, but his lips pursed in a way that did not seem promising.

"Sir Valiant, how do you respond to these claims?" The king asked, and Merlyn's heart sank.

"They're lies, my lord. I would never delve into sorcery—I have no need of it." The yellow-clad knight said arrogantly. "Furthermore, I find it an insult that I should be judged on the hearsay of a common _girl_ , no matter how clever or cunning."

Uther's expression hardened and Merlyn's heart sank further.

Morgana stepped forward then, into the center of the court. "My lord, if I may?" At Uther's nod she continued. "It is true that the evidence is mostly circumstantial, but it has piled up at an alarming rate. And all of it points to Sir Valiant. Might I suggest that the tournament at least be postponed until further investigation can be done? Or that Sir Valiant be given different equipment, perhaps?"

Merlyn blinked. It was a reasonable suggestion, and it would put Arthur on fair ground with the other knight.

The rest of the court seemed to agree, and there were murmurs of approval all around. Then Uther shook his head.

"No, the tournament must not be postponed, for the sake of tradition." He hummed contemplatively. "Sir Valiant, what say you to receiving a shield identical in shape and weight to your own? That way these allegations can be laid to rest."

Valiant hesitated before speaking icily. "My lord, as I said, I find these allegations insulting. I see no reason for me to potentially disadvantage myself with unfamiliar equipment when I have done nothing worthy of the handicap."

Most people in the room looked at him now in confusion and accusation. If he were truly innocent, there would be no reason to avoid swapping out his shield for an identical one.

Unless, of course, there was something subtle about Valiant's shield that could not be replicated.

Like enchanted snakes.

Uther, unfortunately, did not appear to fall into the category of 'most.'

"You're correct, of course, Sir Valiant," Uther assured, and the knight relaxed slightly in relief. "The evidence presented is circumstantial at best, and hinges on the word of a commoner. Arthur, do you have any further proof?"

Arthur's face was stony as he responded, and Merlyn could see he was doing his level best to avoid glaring at Valiant. "…No. I do not."

Uther's eyes flashed angrily, and she wondered at the disappointment on the king's face. Couldn't he see how Arthur craved his approval?

She wondered, again, when she'd started to care.

"Then what am I to make of these accusations?" Uther demanded, his tone reaching threatening.

"I think, Sire, that he must have made them because he's afraid to fight me," Sir Valiant answered, before Arthur could.

At that the prince's head snapped up, and Merlyn could see the fury and indignation written in every line of his shoulders, and the hardness of his eyes.

And for some godforsaken reason, Uther seemed to _believe_ the knight.

"Is this true?" He spat, " _Are you afraid?_ "

She could see the flash of utter disbelief in Arthur's face. "No!"

"I would happily accept a withdrawal from the tournament as compensation for this injustice," Valiant said silkily.

"I will not withdraw." Arthur uttered through grit teeth.

Uther hesitated, and Merlyn wondered if he was finally seeing Arthur's determination and integrity, before the king spoke again. "I am dismissing the case. There is no proof and no reason to lay any actions against Sir Valiant."

Arthur took a step forward. "But Father—"

Uther spun to him. "This is _cowardly_ , Arthur. Withdraw."

She felt Arthur's hesitation, saw him shift with his frustration, and then his shoulders dropped.

"…I withdraw my allegations. Please accept my apologies," He bowed to Valliant, and Merlyn wondered how he could stomach the injustice and indignity of it.

"Apology accepted," Valiant replied smoothly, as if everything had just gone exactly according to his plan. "I will see you tomorrow on the field," he promised, in a manner that should have been friendly came off threatening, and every person in the room felt it.

 _Well,_ she amended, _every person except Uther._

Arthur turned to exit. Merlyn followed.

But before she went after the prince, Valiant caught her eye, smirking slightly, and his gaze raked across her. She ignored it, her disgust heightened by the shadows of bloodlust she saw in his face.

It was an expression that promised pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, this is only the first half of what was a much longer chapter. Both chapters together total 21k words. Many, many words.
> 
> Alright. Tell me what you think. Are they in character? Was Arthur prattish enough? Is the humor on? Did you like their bonding time at the beginning? Did I do stupid things? This is also largely unedited so if you see anything that needs correcting, let me know.
> 
> As always, if you have any concerns about characterization or plot or whatever, please let me know. Honestly, I really do love talking with readers and explaining why this or that thing is this or that way. In this chapter I especially worried about the courtroom scene, but since Merlyn's status at this point is a bit higher that Merlin's, and Uther has a general soft-spot for women, I figured it would go down quite differently from that angle.
> 
> I also feel it necessary to point out that I know nothing of sword fighting, so that first scene? That was me bluffing. Completely bluffing. Same thing with any perceived medical knowledge.
> 
> I can't wait to give you guys the next chapter. You're gonna love it. Or hate it, quite possibly.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and don't forget to comment on your way out!


	3. Merlyn Gives Advice and Induces Well-Timed Flatulence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlyn and Arthur have a row. Kilgharrah is sassy in ways never seen before. Valiant gets his comeuppance in unexpected ways. Morgana has a bit of a breakdown. And Oswald. Oh, Oswald.

Arthur was too in control of himself to throw a fit.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself as he stormed his way to his chambers.

The familiar walls would be comforting, he thought. Something secure in a world where fathers believed strangers over the word and instincts of their sons.

Perhaps he was adopted? Certainly that would explain his father's behavior…but no, Morgana was his ward and treated like a daughter. So surely Arthur, even if he was adopted—

He stopped his train of thought. It was not the first time he'd traveled in that direction and no good ever came of it.

And it was not, he told himself, his father he was truly angry with. No, that would be Sir Valiant, first and foremost, for insinuating that he was a coward and manipulating his father. Second would be—

"Arthur, wait." Her voice called from behind him.

He did not respond, and certainly didn't heed her demand. He heard her behind him, the rapid footsteps telling him she was jogging to keep up.

Where yesterday he would have slowed at that realization, today he simply ignored it.

He just wanted some _peace_ , for God's sake. Because apparently he was condemned to die tomorrow, fighting an opponent who would not win or lose honorably.

It took a few minutes to reach his chambers, and by then he was well and truly worked up. It must have shown on his face because as soon as he entered, his servant gasped and fled the room.

He breathed through his nose, trying to calm down, and perhaps it would have worked if Merlyn hadn't chosen _that moment_ to wrench the door open (without knocking, the presumptuous girl).

"Leave." He told her shortly, letting his temper show on his face.

She just turned around and shut the door, leaning on it for a second or two before turning again to face him.

"I'm sorry." She told him, her back against his door. "You didn't deserve that." And it felt rather like being punched in the gut, that honest concern in her eyes.

"To what are you referring," he sneered, because Arthur did not handle emotion well, and he was feeling far too much of it right now. "Being misled by my physician, or being _humiliated_ in front of the entire court? In front of my _father_!"

Her face turned stony, and she approached him steadily. "I never misled you. Arthur, the threat is very real. None of that has changed."

He rounded on her. "I trusted you, and look where it got me."

She stamped the ground and her fist rose and fell with her indignation. "And you were right to trust me! I did not lead you astray, and I did not lie! Valliant is a threat and you know it. Confronting him was the right thing to do."

"The _entire court_ thinks I'm a coward," he hissed, "and it's all thanks to you."

Her eyes hardened. "How dare you?" she spat, "I was just protecting you. That's my job." She straightened her spine. "And if you think the court thinks you a coward, you weren't paying attention. They're suspicious of Valiant too. You were just too focused on your father, who treated you unfairly."

"That is your Lord and King," Arthur hissed, unable to hear his own fears voiced, "Show some respect."

Merlyn scoffed, her mouth twisting into a harsh expression, but she commented on the king no further. "I maintain that you were simply to focused on the king to realize—the rest of the court is convinced of Valiant's guilt, and you've already been rewarded with their respect. They'll be even more impressed when we expose Valiant—"

"We will not be working to expose Valiant," Arthur declared. "I've had enough of trusting the likes of you." He gestured to the door. "Leave—and do _not_ return."

She scowled. "I'm not leaving. We're going to figure this out—"

He couldn't take it anymore, her optimism and determination. "You're fired," he told her.

Normally he would have been quite proud of the absolutely gob-smacked expression on her face. He would have considered it an achievement. Today, he just wanted to be alone.

He turned away from her, expecting Merlyn to be astute enough to take the hint.

Ergo, he was completely taken aback when she slapped him upside the head.

He spluttered and turned back to her, nearly enraged. "How _dare_ —"

"No, how dare _you_ ," she interrupted, and Arthur realized her eyes were shining a little too brightly. "You are the biggest prat I have ever met, and I'm sorry I met you!" He was surprised at how much that hurt, and the realization simply fueled his anger. Her face twisted into something unrecognizable for a second before smoothing back into fierce anger. "You _can't_ fire me, you narcissistic asshole, because I'm your friend." Some tired, wan impishness crossed her face now, "Plus, I was hired by the only person above your pay-grade."

Arthur felt…he wasn't sure what he felt. His embarrassment still stung, and his father's disappointment and anger threatened to crush him. This—whatever this feeling was—it was unfamiliar. He was not used to having people fight for him, be enraged for him, to emote on his behalf. It was unfamiliar, and Arthur wasn't sure what the feeling was, didn't know the proper response or action to her declarations.

No, it was much safer to simply be angry, to let that be the channel for all his feelings, whatever they were. "I don't need your friendship. And I can most certainly fire you."

She held his gaze. "You can't fire me from being your friend. That's not how this works."

Her words should have been a comfort, her determination was familiar, but he was tired. "Get. Out. Or I'll call the guards in."

She looked a little hurt by his rejection, and perhaps more than a little angry, but mostly her eyes were sad. She walked to the door, and stopped before them.

"Be careful, Arthur," she told him quietly, "it seems to me you have precious few friends at your disposal."

She left before he could respond.

He was not sure what he would have said, regardless.

* * *

Gwen found her, on the steps leading up to the main part of the castle.

"Morgana wants to see you," Gwen informed her gently. "Best not keep her waiting."

Merlyn simply sighed, suddenly tired. She hadn't been aware she was so fond of Arthur until she found herself declaring her undying friendship to him.

But he'd looked so lost and so sad—she just had to offer him something to hold on to, when his family, evidently, would not provide said support. Especially when his family was actually the _cause_ of his pain.

Her fists clenched at the thought of Uther, wondering how he could be human. The man was a monster, to inflict such crippling doubt on his son.

She knew Arthur was in pain. She knew he was angry. But to have her friendship thrown back in her face? That hurt. It opened old wounds, from growing up without a father, without a wedding band around her mother's finger.

But Gwen was insistent, and so she buried the hurt and followed the handmaiden despondently to Morgana's chambers.

The lady in question, it turned out, was absolutely livid.

"That—that _scoundrel_. I can't _believe_ him! How dare he treat Arthur this way?"

While Merlyn was a little heartened that someone else was feeling the injustice on Arthur as well, she wasn't entirely sure who Morgana was referring to—Uther or Valiant.

"I can't believe I liked him! He _flirted_ with me!"

Well, that cleared it up, at least.

…well she certainly hoped that cleared it up.

Merlyn repressed a shudder. She'd heard that sometimes happened to young female wards, when they reached marrying age.

It was Gwen who reached the truly salient point. "He's going to kill Arthur tomorrow."

Morgana huffed, but the fight drained out of her. "…I know." Then green eyes lighted on Merlyn. "What are you going to do about it?"

Merlyn blinked. "Me? What is it you think I can do that I haven't already done?"

Morgana gave her a considering glance. "I guess I'm not sure. Something just tells me that you _can_."

Merlyn huffed, slightly irritated. "Trust me, if I had any other means of revealing Valiant, I would have tried it by now." She felt a sudden flash of irritation. "Why does everyone seem to think I'm solely responsible for his conviction anyway? We tried that—the king dismissed me as a commoner."

Morgana's eyes flashed angrily again, "Oh don't _even_ get me started on Uther Pendragon," she hissed, obviously frustrated. Then she paused, giving her another measured look. "Did you and Arthur have a row? I heard shouting from his chambers when I passed."

Merlyn sighed. She liked Morgana, but the noblewoman could be a bit nosy. "Yes." She muttered tersely. "He's a right git."

Morgana nodded in a sort of sympathetic way, but didn't push further. Merlyn appreciated it.

Once again, Gwen jumped on the more important thread of conversation. "It _is_ your responsibility though! Without you we never would have realized, would we? So you have to follow through to the end, and show everyone you were right and they were wrong!"

Merlyn blinked at her, surprised by her faith. "But how? I've no means of revealing him as the scum he is."

Morgana hummed quietly. "If only there was a way to force the snakes from the shield. That's the whole problem, isn't it? He controls when they come out, and when they strike."

Gwen nodded, "And he controls it through magic, so it's not like any of us could actually force it otherwise."

Merlyn blinked again, then looked between the two girls suspiciously. Did they…?

"Ugh! This is so frustrating!" Morgana moaned. "And even worse—Arthur doesn't fight well on nerves. Not when there's more important things than his _life_ at stake, like his stupid ego." She growled sarcastically.

No, they didn't know. They were just speculating.

"I'm…going to look through Gaius' books, see if there's anything that we can use to force the snakes out of the shield. If there is a way, it's in there." Merlyn turned to the corridor, planning on leaving Morgana and Gwen to it.

"Wait!" Morgana called. Merlyn turned back to her. "You should sleep in my antechamber tonight. Valiant knows you know, he could come after you."

Merlyn frowned. "But you supported me. You'd be putting yourself in even more danger if you sheltered me."

Morgana huffed and rolled her eyes. "You're my friend, Merlyn. I'm willing to take the risk." Merlyn couldn't help it. She beamed at Morgana. Then noblewoman smirked. "And besides, Arthur would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you."

Merlyn raised an eyebrow. "I really don't think Arthur could care less what happens to me," She responded, thinking of his rage in his chambers not an hour ago. "But if you're sure, I'll come back after I'm done researching Gaius' books."

Morgana just continued to smirk. "Oh please, Arthur would be furious if you were injured. Anyone could see that." Gwen giggled off to her side, probably amused by whatever expression of bafflement was on Merlyn's face. "And don't worry about coming in late—take as much time as you need. Save his life." Morgana said it like an order, but the softness around her eyes made it more like a plea.

Merlyn took her leave then, and raced to Gaius' chambers. She had an idea. A possibly insane idea, but an idea, nonetheless.

* * *

In the physician's chambers she found what she was looking for—a lifelike statue of a butterfly, cast in plaster. Gaius would probably lecture her for using his things to experiment with before asking permission, but she simply didn't have time.

She began to wind her way to the bowels of the castle. The path was quickly becoming familiar, and the places in which it was necessary to thoroughly scout were becoming instinctive. Soon, her feet crossed from concrete to stone, and she found herself facing the mammoth-sized cavern where Kilgharrah resided.

"We have a problem." She said to the open air, levitating the rock to retrieve her book. She immediately started to unwrap it from its red velvet coverings, and didn't even look up as she heard the great wings shift the air around her, ruffling her cloak and tunic.

"What has you working with such great haste, young witch?" The old voice purred.

"Arthur is in danger," she informed him. "He's currently fighting in a tournament, and his final opponent has been cheating with a magic shield. He'll kill Arthur tomorrow if Arthur shows signs of besting him, which he _will_." She flipped rapidly through the pages. "The shield has a Coat of Arms painted on it—three snakes knotted in a triangle shape." She found the section on life-like representations of an object or image, and started skimming. "However, if I can make the snakes come to life in front of everyone, Valiant will be revealed and ousted from the tournament. He'll be forced to forfeit, and be arrested."

"Hmm. Sounds like you've got it all figured out." Now she paused.

Looked up.

"What is it?"

Kilgharrah hummed. "It will be…very difficult to reverse-engineer the exact spell used to animate the snakes." Kilgharrah commented. "If you learn the wrong one, it will have no effect. The magic of the shield will be working under different constraints."

She slumped. "So what am I to do then? I can't possibly learn them all," she commented, looking at the rather large section of the book which involved animating inanimate things.

"Think about it, Merlyn," Kilgharrah admonished. "Men's magic works under the principle of constraints. What would you need to undo unknown restraints?"

"A dragon that gives straight answers," she snipped sourly. Kilgharrah gave her an unimpressed look.

"I guess…you'd need something that attacks the constraints themselves." She blinked. "Can you do that? Without completely undoing the magic, I mean. I need the snakes to come alive, not just go away."

Kilgharrah nodded. "A revelation spell, I think, would do the trick."

She nodded, already flipping through the pages to the correct section.

There were…many, many _many_ revelation spells. Most of them involved the concept of destroying barriers keeping magic in place. Merlyn was wary of those—too much chance of destruction. Others used more inconspicuous methods of revelation, which allowed only the caster to discern what a magical artifact contained or did.

Useless. She already knew that information.

But there was one—near the back of the section—which promised to undo the concealment aspect of the magical constraints. It warned, however, that the magic could never be set to rights again—that instead it would forever be separated from whatever object it had previously resided in. After some input from Kilgharrah, she selected this one. The permanent separation wasn't an issue, but at first she'd worried that it would reveal the snakes as magical essence rather than live snakes. Kilgharrah was _kind_ enough (AKA: behaved like a cryptic shithead the _entire_ time) to point out that the spell would only break down the binding constraints, not the actual formative magic.

End result? There would be snakes.

Normally she would not be nearly so happy about that.

"Great. I have a spell," She said cheerfully, then frowned. "Now what do I practice on?"

She could _feel_ the eye roll. She just knew Kilgharrah was thinking it. He was just too _dignified_ to actually engage in the action.

"Here." Kilgharrah breathed on the rock that usually sat above her spell book. Golden mist solidified into a black lacquer. "Once you break through the shell to the rock beneath, you will have learned the spell."

She grinned. "Thanks. You're rather handy to have around, you know that?"

The dragon looked rather put out at that.

Merlyn read the words several times over, mouthing them to get the inflection. Then she raised a hand to the rock in front of her, and gathered the magic. " _ábriceþ þæs níedgesteallan þæs ásælaþ ðu, ásægest hit á! (1)_ "

Nothing happened.

She looked at the dragon.

The dragon looked at her.

She continued to stare.

"Your pronunciation is atrocious."

There was something distinctly irritating about being an all-powerful witch with a sassy dragon as a mentor.

* * *

Two hours later, when she still hadn't made any progress, Kilgharrah forced her to take a break.

"It is a difficult spell, young witch. You must reflect rather than trying to force it. Think about what you are doing wrong, and fix it."

Merlyn sent him a glare, letting him know exactly how helpful she was finding his advice at the moment.

"What I find confusing is your utter lack of connection with the words," the Great Lizard continued. "It is as if you do not know what they mean."

She frowned at him. "Well of course I don't. They're in a different language. One I've never been taught."

Kilgharrah stared.

She stared back.

"It would seem I was wrong," Kilgharrah snipped prissily, "You're an idiot after all."

After two hours of Kilgharrah's near-constant snark, she was just too tired to respond. _Someone_ woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. Or the cave, rather.

She decided, prudently, not to bring it up.

"All creatures of magic—including witches like yourself—have an instinctive understanding of the language of magic. Such knowledge cannot be taught. It simply is or is not." The dragon shuffled, getting comfortable in his lecture-mode. "Look within yourself, Merlyn. Find your connection to magic, and ruminate on the words of the spell. The meaning should be clearer than sunlight." She thought there might be a note of wistfulness in his voice as he spoke of the sun.

Sensing that it would be folly to just keep trying without actually knowing what she was doing, Merlyn did as she was told.

Her magic felt as it always did—a warm layer beneath her skin, alive and pulsing with her heartbeat, infused in her blood and muscle and sinew and soul. But the longer she concentrated on it, the more she realized she only sensed the surface. There was a well beneath her normal reserves, an ocean beyond the harbor.

Merlyn dug deeper, trying to find the source of her power, trying to figure out where it all derived from. She wondered, briefly, why she had never done this before, and felt a flash of apprehension when she realized she'd never needed to know the depths of her magic before today. That she had never wanted to know her limits for fear of never finding any.

Her anxiety slowed her progress, and she shoved it aside. Merlyn could be afraid of herself later—right now she had a prince to save.

Her magic gave a great leap as her heartbeat accelerated, thinking of the loneliness in Arthur's eyes, their endless banter, his hesitant kindness, like he was afraid he might be punished for it…

Merlyn was expelled from her trance.

She opened her eyes to see Kilgharrah looking at her with expectation in the golden depths of his eyes.

"Well?" He prompted. His wings drooped a little when she shook her head in the negative.

"I thought of Arthur, and my magic just froze." She huffed. "The git can't even let me save his life in peace, apparently."

Kilgharrah seemed disturbed, or perhaps uncomfortable. "Did you…have a falling out? With Arthur?"

Merlyn snorted. "You could say that."

The dragon stilled. Then commanded, "Tell me."

While a little off-put by how interested Kilgharrah seemed in her personal relationship with Arthur, she did relate the story.

"So now," she complained after all was told, "he blames me for his father's stupidity and his perceived humiliation. Everyone knows he's right, except Uther, apparently. But he hates me anyway."

Kilgharrah chuckled. "The half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole, young witch. You and Arthur are two sides of the same coin, bound by ties stronger than anything the world has yet seen." The dragon sighed. "You will not be able to save Arthur until you make peace with him, and calm your mind. Go. Make up with him. And then come back and do."

"But—"

"Merlyn, you are going to run out of time, sooner or later."

Merlyn promptly decided getting away from the nagging dragon for an hour was well worth Kilgharrah's weight in gold.

Which begged the question—what exactly did Kilgharrah eat down here anyway?

* * *

Merlyn found him in his chambers, stoking the fire with a sword of all things.

She considered him for a moment before she spoke. She could only see his profile, but his mouth was twisted into a hard line, his jaw tense. His blue eyes were hard and flinty even as they glowed from the firelight. There was a restlessness to his movements that Merlyn knew stemmed from stress. His fight-or-flight instinct was triggered, and he wanted very badly to fight. To win. To conquer the obstacle in his path. But she could see resignation there too. His opponent was dishonorable and giving him no chance—willing to sacrifice Arthur's life and Valiant's own honor in order to win fame and glory and gold, and Arthur knew and was resigned. Like some sort of martyr.

"You're going to ruin the tempering some poor blacksmith did on that sword." She told him.

Arthur did not glance up, but stubbornly continued to look at the fire. "I thought I told you to leave."

"And I thought I told _you_ I couldn't be fired." She smiled, and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You're stuck with me, I'm afraid. For eternity."

She thought the corner of his mouth might have twitched—but it could just be the flickering light of the flames. "God I hope not," he rejoined.

Merlyn smiled a little victoriously, happy to have elicited a reaction other than anger. She let her confident posture slip, and took a step forward, taking in the tense lines of his face and shoulders. "You're going to fight tomorrow, aren't you?"

He stirred the fire again, the sword-tip glowing a little in the flames. "I don't have a choice."

She took another step forward. "You do. You can live. You have the choice."

Something tender stretched across his face, and she didn't have time to process it before he buried it beneath careful blankness. "If I withdraw, the people will think me a coward. If they think me a coward, I will never be able to lead them. Don't you see, Merlyn?" He almost begged it, the words were so strained, and a desperate look came into his eyes. "Don't you understand? If I withdraw tomorrow, I'll revoke any claim I have to the crown. I'll never be able to take my father's place on the throne. Morgana would probably shun me, or at least humiliate me at every chance in the foreseeable future, probably publicly too. My father—" Arthur cut himself off, as if his thoughts were too horrible to think about. "My father," he tried again, "would probably disown me anyway. I'd be too big a disappointment. And worst of all—Camelot would be without a worthy successor. Camelot would be in danger."

And there was nothing Arthur cared about more than Camelot, Merlyn realized.

She took another step toward him, hands outstretched in a placating gesture. When he did not move she was encouraged and took another cautious step. "I understand," she whispered, and somehow she knew Arthur could hear. "I didn't before, but now I do." And she was pretty sure she did. Arthur was crucifying himself for the welfare of Camelot. And he was forcing everyone to watch as he did it.

She approached him cautiously, like she would a skittish horse. "You have a choice," she whispered, wondering at the dual meaning of her own words, "But it's not really a choice at all, is it?"

She too, had a choice. Like she'd described for Kilgharrah, she could choose to leave Camelot, and never learn more about her magic or about life here in the citadel. She could live quietly, and lose all semblance of herself in the process.

Or, she could take the risks, and come what may, protect as many good people as possible with her magic, a silent guardian walking in the shadows of her much greater friends, simply hoping for the chance to make them safe.

Merlyn had the passing thought, as her hands finally met Arthur's tense forearm, that perhaps she and Arthur were more similar than she'd thought.

"It's my duty," he agreed, and Merlyn thought she might have seen a flash of fear in his eyes before they shuttered closed again.

Gently, still moving slowly to avoid spooking him, she raised his right hand with her left, and gently prised his tense fingers from the handle of the sword. "Your duty," Merlyn began, "Must be to your heart, to your soul." She flicked her eyes to his face to cut off his protests. "If you're truly worthy of the crown, then wouldn't you say the desires of your heart and soul must seek the goodness of the people?"

He fell silent, and she continued to pull at his fingers, strong and calloused, the muscles slowly relaxing as she worked.

"You must make the decisions you can live with, Arthur." And his gaze felt heavy on her face. "You must be able to die happy with what you've done, without regret, and you must be able to live that way too." Her grip tightened on his forearm as her thoughts led her to the upcoming day. "That does _not_ mean, however, that you have my permission to die."

Arthur let the sword exchange hands, and Merlyn held it point-down between them. "I don't really think Valiant will be _asking_ your permission, Merlyn."

"I'm not talking to Valiant, am I?" She gripped his arm hard enough to bruise anyone less muscular. "I said, _you will not die_. You will not give up. You will continue fighting no matter what, and you will win. Do you understand?"

He looked at her with an unreadable expression. "I understand."

"Good," she said, making sure her tone booked no argument. She felt a swell of fondness for this utterly hapless prince. Arthur was a complete prat, but there were times where she couldn't help but see parts of him that were deeper, more tender, filled with goodness and potential. He obviously had no idea what to make of his emotions, what to do with his loyalty for Camelot, his love for his people, his attachment to his friends. And yet he tried, so hard, to simply please everyone, to be more than the human he was.

Oh.

Suddenly his reaction to her advice about nerves made sense.

She didn't call him on it. That was a conversation for another day. Merlyn got the feeling it would take lifetimes to convince Arthur that _'yes, you are a human,'_ and _'yes, that is okay and in fact expected.'_

She was determined to make sure he saw a day where he could accept that about himself.

"I'm going to make sure you live," she promised, breaking eye contact to place his sword on the nearby rack. "I'm going to make sure you live, and I'm going to make sure Valiant is revealed as the coward he is."

He sounded bemused. "And just _how_ are you going to do that?"

She shrugged. "A physician never reveals her secrets," she informed him.

She could _feel_ him rolling his eyes as she made for the door. "That's magician, idiot."

Merlyn smirked, feeling reckless. "Oh and how would you be able to tell them apart anyway?" She asked innocently, "It's not like you know anything about science." Or magic, for that matter.

"I've been taught by the best scholars in the land since the age of four," Arthur scorned, "I think I know a little about science."

She turned over her shoulder as she reached the door. "Yes, but were any of your teachers Gaius?"

Merlyn left before Arthur could get it in his head to start throwing things.

Sometimes it was good to have the final word.

Especially when one was headed for another extended stint with a snarky dragon.

 _Honestly_ , if there was any validity to this Destiny crap, she could have at _least_ picked actors with more moderate temperaments.

* * *

It was the very early hours of the morning when Merlyn finally trudged up the stairs to Morgana's rooms. Four hours of practice later, with Kilgharrah nitpicking every detail about her form, pronunciation and general incompetence, she was finally deemed ready to perform the spell in the arena tomorrow. Or today, rather. It was very late.

She had to go through Morgana's main chambers to get to the servants' quarters. Merlyn opened the door that didn't squeak, and started to creep in, fully expecting Morgana to be asleep.

She was surprised to find, however, that Morgana was wide awake.

Every candle in the room was lit, and Morgana sat near her window sill, looking forlornly out over the courtyard. The fireplace roared with life and the room was almost stifling in its heat—yet Morgana wore heavy nightclothes and a cloak.

"My lady?" She inquired quietly, hoping not to startle her.

Morgana was startled anyway, and Merlyn's concern increased when she saw the fear in Morgana's eyes and the paleness of her already white skin. She looked gaunt, almost, despite having a healthy glow just a few hours prior.

"Merlyn?" She asked, her normally confident voice more vulnerable than she ever would have expected. Her eyes brightened in realization. "Did you do it? Did you find a solution?"

She should say no. It would cast too much suspicion, if she said yes and someone realized that magical interference was at work in the fall of Valiant. But she couldn't bring herself to crush the hope in Morgana's eyes.

"Yes. I won't let Arthur die. I promise." And she felt the words binding in her soul in ways she could not describe.

Morgana's shoulders slumped in relief. "That's good," she whispered, "I'm glad." Morgana turned back to the window, and resumed her vigil.

"My lady, are you alright?" She asked, because frankly, Merlyn quite doubted it at the moment.

"Call me Morgana, Merlyn," Morgana ordered absently. She didn't say anything for a few heartbeats. Then, "Do you ever get nightmares?" Morgana asked, and that vulnerable tone in her voice pricked at Merlyn's heart.

"Sometimes," Merlyn answered honestly. "When it happens I usually just get up and get some work done. Something with my hands." She paused, wondering if this story would have a similar effect on Morgana as the one she'd told Arthur. "My mother always told my nightmares were just our mind's way of dealing with our heart's fears. I do something with my hands, that leaves my mind clear, and I try to understand _why_ I'm afraid." She hesitated at Morgana's broken look. "It's harder than it sounds."

Morgana didn't say anything. Merlyn wondered if she'd overstepped her bounds, but the older girl suddenly twisted back to her, a fierce, desperate look on her face.

"Can I trust you?" She asked, almost begging, "I—I need to tell someone, and for some reason I'm just so certain I can trust you. Please."

Merlyn wondered how anyone could refuse such obvious pain.

"Of course," Merlyn told her, approaching her to sit on the opposite side of the window sill.

"I dream things," Morgana whispered, her eyes almost hungry as they searched Merlyn's, "I dream things, and they come true." Tears welled up and leaked from the corners of her eyes. "Sometimes it's nothing—a door swinging shut or a horse kicking a stall door as I walk past. Other times," a great gasp as she tried to control her panic. "Other times I see death—so much destruction. It can be people I know intimately and it can be total strangers." She was sobbing in earnest now. "I've watched _so many people_ die, Merlyn. And I can't do it anymore, I can't!"

"Shh," Merlyn soothed, moving to the terrified woman and placing a hand on her back to sooth her with the contact, "Shh, Morgana, you're safe."

Morgana buried her head in Merlyn's waist and hiccuped a few times.

Then, the words she'd been dreading. "It's magic, isn't it?" Morgana asked in a voice so small and so scared, Merlyn could hardly recognize it as belonging to the same confident woman who wore a shoulder-less dress to the banquet a few weeks before.

Merlyn gulped, her own eyes watering, and she brushed a hand through Morgana's hair. "Yes, I think it must be."

Morgana didn't move or speak for a few minutes, and Merlyn did not dare disturb her. Such revelations were not accepted easily, after all. It was much later when Morgana took a great gulp of air and sat up to face the other young witch in the room. Merlyn had never seen a woman look so small.

"Are you going to turn me in?" Morgana asked quietly, determined.

Merlyn reached forward, and grasped her hands. "Do you have any designs against Camelot?"

Morgana's eyes widened. "What? No!"

"What about King Uther or Prince Arthur? Any personal vendettas you want to settle via magical destruction?"

Morgana just seemed confused now. "No, of course not, why—?"

"How about any of Camelot's citizens, or any of her affiliates?"

"Merlyn, no, of course I don't want to hurt anybody—"

Morgana cut herself off, her surprise choking her.

"I know what Uther teaches," Merlyn whispered quietly, still holding Morgana's hands between her own. "I know you've probably been raised to think magic is evil, that having it makes you evil. But it's obvious to me you didn't have a choice in having magic. It just happened." At Morgana's hesitant nod, she continued. "What matters now is what you do with it. I believe intentions matter. The choices we make matter. I won't turn you in to Uther, Morgana, not unless you suddenly threaten everything you once held dear."

There was a long moment of silence in which Morgana soaked in Merlyn's words, and Merlyn let her process.

Then, a quiet question came, vulnerable and penetrating with the conflicting doubt and hope in Morgana's eyes. "How do you know I'm _not_ evil?" Morgana asked. "How can you be sure? Uther always said magic was attracted to those with perverted souls."

Merlyn shook off her own fear and discomfort, the pangs of uncertainty, and smiled at her. "You already told me, Morgana. You don't want to hurt anyone, right?"

She nodded earnestly.

"So _don't_." At Morgana's doubtful look she continued. "We'll find a way for you to control it. Gaius will help—he practiced magic before the purge."

Morgana frowned, wary. "He's the one who always told me it couldn't be magic, though."

Merlyn frowned in return. "Maybe he was trying to protect you. I don't know. I won't tell him if you don't want me to, but I think he could help."

Morgana shrugged noncommittally, but in a way that indicated she didn't particularly like the idea. "How do you know so much about the subject?"

Merlyn hesitated, unsure. She'd never told anyone about her magic. They just…found out. First her mother, then Will, then Gaius…it had always been an accident, an act of providence or carelessness. Never before had she deliberately told someone, and something rooted deep inside her seized at the idea of revealing her secrets now.

But she couldn't lie, either. Not when Morgana was looking at her so earnestly and so hopefully.

"I know someone," She started, "Who had the same problem. Hers manifested differently, but they came earlier than yours. She couldn't control it, not at all. She grew up afraid of herself, and it was only recently that she realized she had some power over her own life. That she had choices she could make, and she had to be content with whatever she chose." She squeezed Morgana's hands earnestly. "She decided to _help_ people, Morgana."

Morgana looked slightly suspicious, like she knew Merlyn wasn't telling the whole truth. But curiosity also shone in her green eyes, and it won out. "Is she happy, now?"

Merlyn huffed, unsure of how to answer. "I'm not sure. Are any of us, do you think?" Morgana looked uncomfortable at the question. "I know she's happ _ier_ now. But the changes are still happening and she's still making choices. I like to think she'll _be_ happy, one day, but it's hard. She's still trying to decide what she wants her life to be about."

Morgana was quiet for a moment. And then her voice came quiet, but stronger than she'd been the whole night. "I saw Arthur's death, earlier." Morgana looked up, determined. "I'm going to make sure it doesn't happen."

Merlyn grinned, satisfied. "Well, between the two of us, we might just keep the prat alive."

* * *

His servant—his name was Walter, Arthur was pretty sure—dressed him in silence. He found himself missing Merlyn's usual mindless chatter. One of her duties was taste-testing his food, and she usually showed up for breakfast and then hung around for him to get dressed before they all went down to the field for morning training. Funny how quickly certain things could become routine.

He was a little surprised she hadn't come to see him off, but he supposed she really wasn't one for goodbyes, anyway.

Wendell, or whatever his name was, suddenly stopped and stepped back, and he was going to question it until he saw Morgana swoop into his line of vision.

The first thing he noticed was that she looked tired. But there was a certain peace about her that he realized had been missing for a while now.

She stepped behind him, and fixed the buckle on his chest-plate. He allowed her to move in silence, and did not bother her work. Soon, she came around to his front and adjusted the straps on his greaves. He looked at her questioningly, surprised she'd come at all. Morgana was not exactly one for goodbye's either.

She must have thought he was questioning something else. Or perhaps she was just deflecting. "I used to help my father with his armor, you know," She whispered. "He wore his as you do."

Arthur straightened his features, fighting to keep the new found suprise off his face. "He was a great knight," he told her, and it was the greatest compliment he could give.

"He was. You are too, you know." She gave the leather strap one last twist. "I wasn't ready to lose him," she whispered. "You better not die. Lose if you have to, but don't die."

Arthur sighed. "Merlyn already made me promise I wouldn't die." But she did it knowing he could not lose for fear of his honor. She made him promise to win.

Morgana smiled, an odd note to it. "Merlyn's good for you," she decided. "She keeps you honest."

Morgana finished with his wrist guard, and handed him his helmet. "Be safe," she whispered, and something stubborn glinted in her eyes.

Arthur remembered his promises, and resolved to make no more. "I'll see you at the feast."

The walk down to the arena felt too short and too long at the same time. First the flags became visible, and then the stadium itself, buzzing with conversation and excitement. Arthur felt his nerves rise, felt them settle deep into his gut.

He must win or die. There would be no third option. Valiant wouldn't allow it.

As he approached the gates, a familiar form stood by the entrance. Long dark hair, woven back into a braid. Long blue cloak concealing leggings and a linen tunic on a slender feminine frame.

She was waiting for him, and he felt an unexpected note of relief at the sight.

"Decided to show up, then?" he asked. She grinned, and there was something oddly mysterious about it.

"I told you—I'm going to save your worthless hide."

Despite the nerves, despite the circumstances, her sharp wit settled him. "You helping me would be cheating," he reminded her.

She just shrugged. "I'll be cheating a cheater. All _I'll_ do is put you on equal ground."

Wait. It sounded like she actually had a plan…?

"Merlyn don't make yourself a target," he told her tiredly.

Her elfin features scrunched into a mischievous smile. "Now where would be the fun in that?"

The trumpets sounded and he squirmed, realizing he had very little time to convince Merlyn not to get herself killed. "I'm serious, Merlyn, he'll probably come after you next anyway. He knows you know. Don't do anything stupid."

She gave him a deadpan look. "What, like willingly stepping into an arena where certain death awaits?"

…She had a point.

"It's completely different," he argued. She just shook her head, delicate lips pursing stubbornly.

"This is what having friends is like, Arthur, get used to it." She stepped closer to him, eyes intense and fists on her hips, but it was not like she had been the night before, when her elegant fingers gripped his arm and loosened tense muscles. "When your friend does something stupid for really _excellent_ reasons, you do your damndest to get them out alive."

He nodded reluctantly, and gave her the same blessing Morgana had given him. "Be safe."

She snorted. "I'm not the one doing stupidly dangerous things. Besides, I'll be fine. Look!" She hooked a thumb over her shoulder and Arthur saw his skittish servant staring at the two of them in awe. "I've got Oswald with me. I'm _completely_ safe."

Arthur snorted, amused, and then hitched his helmet. It was time to enter the arena.

His nerves must have shown on his face, because Merlyn's tone changed immediately.

"Hey." She barked, like a general would her troops, but her eyes were soft and fond. "It's okay to be nervous. But you're going to be fine." She paused, suddenly looking uncharacteristically hesitant. "And whatever happens, I'm proud of you."

He couldn't do anything but stare for a moment. A seed of warmth built in his chest, perhaps fondness or affection, and he allowed its existence for a few precious moments. Sometimes had the strangest sense that Merlyn _knew_ him, in a way that was intimate and unobtrusive, natural and expected. Like his thoughts and feelings were a book she'd read long ago, and she still knew pieces of the plot. He wondered what he'd done to make her proud, and what he'd need to do to make her change her mind.

But Arthur Pendragon could never have brought himself to ask those questions or speak those words. Not to Merlyn, not to anyone. So he nodded to her, not entirely sure what to say after such a declaration, and strode into the arena.

He could not see her face, and so did not know if she'd been expecting a different reaction. But he was assured of her favor when from behind him he heard a cheerful, "Break a leg!" and a cry of "I'm not sure that's really appropriate, miss!"

He managed to straighten his features before entering. Barely.

The crowd screamed when he strode in, and the sound settled in his bones, putting him into the correct mentality for this fight.

Calm. Focused. Unrelenting. His nerves were gone, converted into anticipation and resilience.

Most people in the crowd clapped. Morgana, he noticed, and her maid did not. Instead, his almost-sister sat razor straight in her seat, hawk-like eyes trained on the field. He wondered what made her so tense, so focused. She couldn't be _that_ worried about his safety.

He stopped in front of his father, who sat on a gilded throne. The king gave Arthur a slight nod, and he knew that was all the encouragement he was going to get.

It was all he needed.

Arthur turned to Valiant. The man's smug features made his skin crawl unpleasantly, and just added fuel to the fire in Arthur's soul.

This man had done him an injustice. He would not take Arthur's life and honor as well.

They tapped their blades together in the customary way, and donned their helmets.

The fight began with a series of terrible blows. His father was right when he said Valiant had an aggressive style. He was a big man, with broad shoulders, and he threw every last ounce of weight into each swing. It was terribly inefficient, and Valiant had poor form. But he was so strong, it almost didn't matter. Unlike his previous opponent, Valiant was also very fast, and Arthur could not dodge every swing of the sword and bash of the shield. Every blow Arthur took disoriented him, and sometimes sent him stumbling back a few steps.

It didn't help that Arthur was trying to stay out of reach of his shield, either. Valiant was brandishing it like the weapon it was, knowing that Arthur would attempt to avoid the thing at all costs, and Arthur could go for neither Valiant's right nor left fully without risking great harm from steel or from venom.

They exchanged a furious flurry of blows, and Arthur managed to knock Valiant's helmet off. The other knight stood, unprotected, and Arthur did what he knew was required to reclaim his honor. To prove himself _better_.

He removed his own helmet.

Valiant challenged him, removing the mail from around his head as well.

Arthur could hear Merlyn berating him for his stupidity even as he did it, but he furiously lowered his own cowl.

 _You are a coward,_ he thought, _and you will not make me look like the blackness in your soul._

Valiant seemed thrilled with the development and, faster than Arthur was expecting, took a stride towards him and used the snake shield to lift him off his feet by his chin. Arthur hit the ground hard, but was not so disoriented as to not see the coward coming.

He hit the shield with the flat of his blade, and rolled as Valiant's steel rained down.

Arthur stood quickly, attempting to get his bearings even as Valiant approached with glee and bloodlust in his eyes.

Behind Valiant was his father, and Arthur saw the glint of the crown in the sun. For the briefest of moments, Arthur's nerves shot through him, completely unbalancing him from the fight.

He could not see his father's face. Was he disappointed? Concerned? Proud?

A blow rained down on him, and Arthur barely deflected in time, but in the process lost his shield. He backed away and circled, trying to collect himself, get back in the mindset. Absently, he noticed it was the same defensive move he tried to teach Merlyn.

The memory calmed him. The world came into hyper-focus like it usually did in a fight.

Valiant rushed him, and Arthur knew he stood no chance staying on the defensive. So when Valiant tried to decapitate him, he merely blocked the blade away, and grabbed Valiant's wrist, stepping inside his guard, and gripped Valiant's other arm, just behind the shield. The knight growled in annoyance, but Arthur had somehow underestimated Valiant's strength, because suddenly he was being pushed back and back and back until he hit a wall, and was pinned between the man, the shield, and concrete.

He managed to knock the knight back, and push him off, rushing out to the center of the arena for more space. When he got there he whirled and faced the other man. He was weaponless. He needed his sword. Valiant knew it too, and stood between Arthur and his blade.

Arthur analyzed carefully, before making a decision. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to try and faint Valiant out and dive for his sword. If he timed it right, and did his footwork perfectly, he might just pull it off. He crouched, ready to spring.

Then the shield came to life.

Two snakes removed themselves from the shield, and Arthur just barely prevented himself from gaping. The reptiles hissed feverishly and writhed further and further from the painted bronze.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlyn grinning like a fool, and wondered how on earth she'd managed to pull it off.

The knight in front of him seemed confused, and triumphantly Arthur stood straighter. "Now they see you for what you really are," he declared proudly, defiantly. Every second these snakes were out just proved Arthur the better man, the more honest one, the man who retained his honor, who had never actually lost it in the first place. Valiant lost his worth the moment he sold his honor to cheat with magic.

Valiant just looked at him contemptuously and snorted. "Kill him!" the liar cried.

Arthur backpedaled. He had no sword. No shield. Both items were at separate corners of the arena, unreachable from where he was. The snakes were herding him back into the corner, and he had to wonder if they were more intelligent than they looked.

"Arthur!"

He whirled, and Morgana tossed a sword, mouth set in determination. He did not have time to thank her, he simply continued his spin and severed the heads of the creatures in one continuous swing.

Valiant approached him, enraged, and Arthur simply slid smoothly under his guard and pierced his belly.

There were so many injustices weighing against this man. From propositioning Morgana and Merlyn, to turning his father and the court against him, to accusing him of cowardice while he cheated for money and fame. Perhaps this man deserved to live. Perhaps he did not. Arthur did not know. But he did not feel real guilt for killing him—a man who would have seen him dead and dishonored.

"Looks like I'll be going to the feast after all," He grunted in his ear as the coward died (2).

Arthur did not cry over cowards.

There was relief flooding him as well, for he was a condemned man who was given a chance to breathe again. Slowly the crowd rose up, clapping as if they could not believe what they had just witnessed, with pride and joy for him, their prince and future king. His heart swelled, and as he spun slowly, looking around in shock as the adrenaline left him, his eyes lighted on Merlyn, who was cheering just as loud as the rest of the onlookers. She caught his gaze, and made a spinning motion with her hands, like she wanted him to keep turning.

He did, and soon his gaze came to the royalty box.

His father did not smile, but he was clapping as he stood, and there was approval in his eyes.

Arthur did not feel content, as he'd imagined, or smug as he took in Morgana's relieved features and her clapping. He felt satisfied, to be certain—but it was the cries and cheers of the people that made his heart break for joy, that made him feel he'd truly succeeded in something, for the first time in a very long while. They shouted for joy, and the stands shook with the thunder of their mad stomping and clapping as they sung his praises and their loyalty, lifting him high on the shoulders of their revelries.

Later, Arthur would remember it as the first time he'd felt like his people's King.

* * *

Morgana found her not long after Arthur's battle. Merlyn observed her closely, looking for signs that she was breaking down again. Instead, she saw a quiet satisfaction about her, lingering in her eyes and small smile.

Merlyn grinned at her, and waited for her approach.

"My lady," she greeted with a curtsy, because they were in public. "It was an excellent match, wasn't it?"

Morgana smiled, and there was a peacefulness about it that made Merlyn feel more relaxed herself. "I used it. The dreams. And it saved Arthur's life." Something heavy seemed removed from the noblewoman. "They're not set in stone, Merlyn. They can be changed."

She thought of destiny and of magic and of bonds that tie with strands unseen. "It can be used for good."

The look in Morgana's eyes shifted. "Indeed." Her head cocked to the side. "Excellent timing, wouldn't you say? When the snakes came from the shield? I believe that was the first time since the start of the fight where they were separated by more than ten feet."

Merlyn did her best to not shift uncomfortably. "Yeah, I suppose."

There was something of suspicion in Morgana's eyes, and for a second Merlyn thought she might ask questions she could not answer.

Then she seemed to come to a conclusion, and stopped.

"Whatever you did worked." Morgana commented. "I think Arthur owes us both his thanks."

Merlyn didn't know what to say, if she should speak, and her quick tongue failed her at forming a lie.

It didn't matter. Morgana turned and walked away without another word, or a look over her shoulder.

* * *

Arthur found her later, at the banquet. He looked very royal, but not as…majestic, as he had right after the battle in his armor. Thankfully he'd taken a bath though. Arthur had well and truly reeked. She wore one of her newer dresses—a dark red gown that highlighted the paleness of her skin, and the brightness of her eyes. Or so Gwen said, at any rate. It was one of Morgana's cast-offs.

"So it would seem I made a mistake. Firing you, I mean."

Merlyn turned to him, water jug in hand. Technically, she was not required to work, but Gaius needed some expensive herbs and extra coin was always handy.

"You don't seem to have been very successful at it in the first place," she reminded him.

Arthur pouted. "I told you, you can't just _refuse_ to be fired," he told her. "That's your employer's decision. Which for you means me. Your employer."

Merlyn rolled her eyes. "And I told _you_. I'm technically under the king's employ, and Gaius'. You just happen to be the person they assigned me to."

He frowned, like he wasn't sure what to make of her. His staring made her uncomfortable. "Speaking of, did you get the chance to speak to the king yet?"

He blinked at the sudden change in topic, and a frustrated look came over his face. "Why does everyone keep asking me about that? First Morgana, now you…"

"Because you deserve an apology," she said frankly. "And not receiving one would normally be seen as grievous as the insult itself." She peered at him. "So perhaps the real question, is why aren't you _seeking_ an apology?"

Arthur continued to look uncomfortable, and his left hand twitched upward, as if to run his hand through his hair, before remembering he wore his crown tonight. He sighed. "Because…I already restored my reputation, I suppose. By myself."

Merlyn nodded slowly. "That makes sense." She shrugged. "You still deserve an apology."

Arthur now looked absolutely unsure, a far cry from his aura of absolute confidence in the arena not hours ago. She looked at him and waited for him to gather his thoughts.

"I…I'm not used to people trying to fight battles for me." He said slowly. "Not even when they're my friend."

"'A house built alone is a house built in sorrow,'" she quoted, "It's not shameful to accept help, you know. Especially when you're willing to do the job alone. I imagine delegation is an important skill as a king, and you could stand to learn how to do it." She shuffled awkwardly. "I suppose I owe you an apology as well. I really didn't mean what I said about regretting meeting you. That was uncalled for."

Arthur shifted, hesitant. "So…you don't regret it, then?"

Something in her melted a little at the vulnerability. "Nope. I'm invested now."

Not because of destiny. Not because some great stupid lizard told her she had to protect this man. In the end it was because Arthur deserved a friend, and she was determined to be one.

Arthur said no more, and she wondered if this was his way of accepting they were actually friends.

Obviously the subject proved too uncomfortable to even contemplate further, because suddenly his chest puffed up and his eyes took on that arrogant light that told her he was flipping the prat switch. "For the record, I don't need anyone protecting me. And certainly not a _girl_."

Merlyn gaped at the injustice of it. "You do too! If not for me and Morgana, you'd be dead as a doornail!"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh please, I would have figured something out if Morgana hadn't—wait, you? What did _you_ do?"

Merlyn smirked. It was wrong to speak ill of the dead, but... "As it turns out, the snakes popped out of the shield in time with Sir Valiant's bowl movements. I slipped a potion to make him gassy in his breakfast so he'd release them accidentally in the arena." She'd consider it payback for all the invasive looks and unwelcome stares.

Plus he tried to kill Arthur. That was probably important to consider as well.

Arthur looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "You can't be serious. That's _not_ how the shield worked!"

Merlyn crossed her arms over her chest smugly. "And why not? I told you—science, magic, very similar sometimes."

Arthur spluttered. "I—There's no way that—It's not _dignified_!"

She looked at him in a way that let Arthur know she thought he was _extra_ stupid. "And who said it had to be dignified?"

Arthur straightened, face set. "I'm not thanking you," he declared snobbishly.

She put her hands on her hips, snarling. "Somehow I wasn't expecting you to."

Arthur huffed. "Honestly, actions like that are why palaces have secret-keepers. They're not _meant_ to be appreciated."

Merlyn sniffed. "Why do you think I didn't make it public knowledge. _Someone_ around here needs to have some decency." She hefted the jug in her hands and turned away. "I have wine jars to fill."

She left the prince pouting in the corner, and found herself humming rather fondly over the picture he made.

He was a prat, certainly. But he had his moments.

* * *

Six hours later, endless goblets of wine filled and many happy nobles fed, Merlyn climbed the endless stairs to Gaius' chambers. Her mentor left early, citing the excitement of the day for his tiredness. Merlyn wondered if it were truly that, and not his rather short temper when it came to a drunken crowd.

Well, short temper in general, especially incited by a drunken crowd.

She finally reached the landing that housed her and Gaius' chambers, she noticed something rather strange.

Sitting in the doorjamb, was a person. He was scrawny, with roguish brown hair and a round, youthful face, and he was sound asleep.

Merlyn recognized him an instant later.

"Oswald!" She exclaimed with some surprise, "What are you doing here?" For this was the second time in as many days that this particular boy had been on her doorstep.

Oswald started awake, saw her, and paled in terror. She feared he would faint again.

Merlyn bent down, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible. "It's alright, Oswald. It's just me. Are you sick? Do you need to see me or Gaius?"

The poor boy was shaking like a leaf, so hard he was rattling the door on its hinges.

"Come on," she coaxed, reaching for his shoulder "let's get you away from that door—"

" _Don't touch me_." He hissed, and it was the most forceful sound she'd ever heard him make.

"I won't," she promised, confused. "What's wrong, Oswald? Are you alright?"

The boy started to sit up, and she moved back to give him space. He kept his eyes on her the whole time, as if she were a threat.

Utterly confused, she waited for him to begin standing before she did the same.

Once standing, Oswald seemed to regain his former skittishness. "I—I—I—know. About—about your—you—the things you can do. Did."

Something cold settled in her stomach, and an explanation came to her that made Oswald's behaviors make sense.

"Oswald, why did you come here?" She asked, feeling fear coalesce in her heart.

"I—I came to talk to you." Something steeled in his brown eyes. "About your—your—your magic."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) I'm sure my grammar is awful because I just used an Old English translation engine, but this should roughly translate to 'Break the ties that bind, express it all.' If any of you are fluent in Old English and would like to give me a better translation, I would greatly appreciate your help.
> 
> (2) I'd just like to say, this is probably one of Arthur's most BAMF lines in the entire series, but it's also one of the most ridiculous. Your opinions?
> 
> Ha! Bet you weren't expecting that one, were you? I've literally been waiting forever for you guys to get to this point.
> 
> So obviously this is where the story starts to head in a different direction. My plot is going to move rather differently to the typical story, or at least it will soon enough. I'm not necessarily going in episode order either. For instance, Aithusa will end up being in this, but Uther will still be alive when she shows up. Morgana's story arc will obviously be very different as well, so many of the episodes in season two and three will become useless. Yes, she's still going to be Uther's daughter and yes, that will be revealed to her. But...well..things will happen, you'll see.
> 
> As you may have picked up on by now, I'm also changing some things I always found troublesome with the Merlin universe. In this chapter, it was pretty minor. Instead of reanimating the snakes, Merlyn simply undoes the magic. I always thought that bit was kind of logically weak. There must be hundreds of ways to animate an image, and the one Merlin uses obviously isn't the same spell because, unlike the shield which retains its images of the snakes when they come alive, Merlin's spell actually animates the statue itself. So how could it have revealed the snakes? My best guess is dramatic effect. Merlyn's, on the other hand, undoes the aspect of the spell that conceals the magic from the public eye. Did we all enjoy sassy!Kilgharrah? I have so much fun writing sassy!Kilgharrah.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I know it's a lot to chew through and I'm honored you've deigned to spend your time on it.


	4. In Which Gaius Raises the Eyebrow of Doom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlyn is impetuous, Arthur hates his job, and Gaius is just trying to keep everyone from panicking, the poor man.

Two weeks after the tournament that Merlyn found herself accompanying Gaius to the market in the lower town. It was a bright, brisk day which heralded the coming of winter and the last days of fall. Merlyn had even swapped out her normal blue cloak for a warmer, woolen one, which was dark green. Gaius, getting on in years, had also donned a thicker set of robes than normal. Cold as it was, the sun was bright and the sky was clear, and the energy in the air made Merlyn's magic vibrate with a certain kind of anticipatory energy. She felt almost giddy with it, as her magic thrummed underneath her skin—a small acknowledgement and tribute to the grand cyclic dance of the sun and moon and stars.

The reason for their trip to the market was more humble than such concepts. Gaius wanted her to see the various herbs he bought at the apothecary—the ones that were too rare or difficult to obtain in the forest surrounding the city. The herbs were often ridiculously expensive, so it was imperative she knew to how to buy quality items. It was a very necessary part of her education as a physician, and Merlyn enjoyed their trips to the apothecary. The place smelled incredible and she was often fascinated at the different qualities of the various plants and roots. In her excitement, she chattered happily, and was just regaling Gaius with a story of her mother and that time she tried to coax Will down from a tree after Merlyn accidentally set it on fire, when she saw it.

A man, lying face-down in the soil of the street.

Gaius spotted the prone peasant at the exact same moment she did, and had the exact opposite reaction.

The old man raced forward, suddenly spry, and knelt beside the fallen body. Merlyn hung back, and approached carefully, observing the unnaturally pale hands and skin, fighting the horrific memories of illness sweeping through Ealdor, felling people like flies, as they filled her mind.

"Aren't you afraid, Gaius?" She asked, "Shouldn't we take precautions?"

The old physician didn't even spare her a glance. "It's my job, Merlyn, and yours too." He reached blindly for his bag. "You may as well get used to it. Besides, most of the time there's nothing to be afraid of."

But then Gaius turned the body over and they saw the face of the deceased man for the first time. Skin like ice, with every vein starkly blue against it. An expression frozen in his last moments to horror and fear.

"You were saying?" She asked weakly, walking closer in spite of herself.

"Cover him up. People mustn't see this or there'll be panic."

* * *

When they finally got the man up into Gaius' chambers it was something of a relief. They ended up having to commandeer a guard to get the man up the stairs. Gaius was too old and she was too small to lift him up all those stairs, but they swore the man to secrecy before he left.

"Is it some sort of plague, Gaius?"

"If it is, then I've never seen anything like it," The old man spoke to the floor as he bent over the deceased. There was an odd tone in his voice as he observed the man.

"You think it's magic?" She wondered aloud. Gaius looked up at her resigned.

"The question is not 'is it magic,' Merlyn, but 'who cast the spell?' It's incredibly powerful, whoever it is."

And he was right. Her magic itched at her skin as she looked upon the dead man, fierce and wary. It felt...disquieting. Unnatural. Disgust crawled up her spine.

There was a knock at the door, distracting her from her thoughts. Gaius gave her an absentminded gesture that indicated she should take care of it.

When she opened it, Arthur appeared behind the door, looking like he was trying very hard to be bored. But there was a faint line of tension in his shoulders and his eyes that spoke of something amiss.

"My father wants to see Gaius in the throne room," He declared. "It's an emergency."

She blinked. "We'll be there right away."

Interest flickered in Arthur's eyes and he looked down at her. "Why do you wear that thing around your neck?" (1)

Unconsciously, her hand reached up to the knotted cloth, the tails of which draped over her shoulder. "Don't you ever get cold outside?"

He rolled his eyes and turned to leave. "Yes, and then I wear a jacket or a cloak, _Mer_ lyn. Honestly, for a physician you're certainly an idiot."

"Think of it as creative problem solving, sire." She quipped. Arthur just rolled his eyes and turned away.

Oswald, the ever-skittish servant, scampered after him, but not before his eyes flicked nervously to Merlyn.

She felt a steady stream of discomfort and a little fear, but she closed the door before it could show on her face.

"Gaius," She called, "The king—"

"I heard," the old man interrupted. "Best get there quickly."

She nodded and helped drape the deadcloth over the fallen man.

"Gaius," she whispered, fear filling her. "Gaius, Oswald is still terrified of me."

The gnarled hands of the physician slowed. "You must give him time, Merlyn. He said he'd keep your secret."

She sighed and started collecting potions. "Yes, but for how long? He will not keep it a secret if he thinks I might harm Arthur."

Gaius shrugged, "Which you won't. Just make sure you never give him a reason to think you would do so."

Merlyn frowned. "How, Gaius? Arthur and I bicker all the time. As much as I might want to kill him sometimes, or at least turn him into a toad or something equally miserable, I don't wish him harm. What if Oswald mistakes that?" It would be all too easy, too. She and Arthur made threats against each other on a daily basis. Why that morning she'd threatened to poison his food after she tasted it if he didn't stop being such a prat about taking the muscle relaxant she and Gaius prescribed him for his strained shoulder. Idiot injured himself fighting Valiant and didn't tell her for _three whole days_ , until she noticed him favoring it.

"Remember Merlyn, he discovered you when you saved Arthur's life. And he was smart enough not to panic about it and confronted you directly." Gaius rolled up a sheaf of examination tools and stuffed it in her pack as well. "I think young Oswald will keep your secret well. I sincerely doubt you have much to fear from him, and he will grow used to you in time."

She sighed, "I know, it's just…it's been two weeks. Arthur's even noticed how scared he is of me. And every time he flinches I just remember…" remember growing up so terribly afraid and alone, isolated because she was different than everyone else in one of the most fundamental and divisive ways possible. Her mother's words as she tried to convince her that _no_ , Merlyn was not evil, and _she_ was not afraid, but her hands had trembled as she said it.

Gaius continued to shuffle around, packing things for an unknown medical emergency—she even saw him pack a draft of Morgana's sleeping draught.

"Merlyn, Oswald knows you are kind. And he is a kind soul as well. He's honest too. If he says he will keep your secret, then he will."

Merlyn certainly hoped so. It wasn't like she had any choice in the matter

* * *

Arthur stood beside his father in a silent throne room. A disturbingly dead man lay prone on the floor before them all, evidence of his previous service still in hand. A goblet full of wine spilled on the floor beside him, and it looked too similar to blood to be comfortable.

Arthur made no eye contact with anyone, and did not respond to his fellow knight's attempts to get his attention. His father paced like a caged bear before him, on the steps of Uther's dais, and Arthur took a quiet breath in through his nose, trying to clear his mind amid the boiling chaos.

His father's court was convened, and that was half the problem at the moment. His fellow noblemen, most of them the leaders of rather comfortable lifestyles in terms of day-to-day danger, were on the verge of absolute panic. His father often criticized the working-class people of being slaves to mob mentality, but Arthur found a certain appreciation for the attitude most lower-class people in Camelot had. An if-there's-a-problem-fix-it-don't-cry-about-it sort of perspective he found admirable.

His fellow noblemen did not share the same perspective.

No one dared touch the dead man. His face was far too strange, with the blue veins and unnaturally white skin, his clothes too dirty, his hair unwashed for too long. There was fear in the room, and to distract himself Arthur turned his gaze slightly upward, toward the vaulted ceilings and the tall windows on the western wall.

Cold light flooded in, graying the concrete walls and revealing the dust motes' endless dance. It always elicited some awe from him, the way the sun could be both warm and cold, golden and white. It made Camelot look new every day, the changes.

Arthur had the passing thought that this really wasn't what he should be pondering at the moment when the doors swung open.

Gaius and Merlyn were probably trying to be unobtrusive. Any other day, they would have succeeded, because the conversation and movement inside the room would have covered the groaning of the oaken door.

Today, in the midst of the stony silence, they just managed to sound particularly noisy.

Their faces were tight as they entered, and Merlyn's eyes landed immediately on Arthur. She was wearing a dress, he noted, as she usually did when she wasn't working for him. Their gazes held for only a moment before Merlyn's eyes flicked to a point over his shoulder. Whatever she saw there made her immediately more stressed, and she turned her attention to Gaius. The elder physician had discerned the source of the disturbance, and made a beeline for the dead peasant.

Arthur watched as Gaius fearlessly dropped beside the fallen man. Merlyn followed with significantly more wariness but knelt on the dead man's opposite side.

He felt something clench inside him at the sight. _Don't touch that_ , he wanted to tell her, _it's not safe_ , but this was the work of a physician and sometimes it was a terribly dangerous job.

She and Gaius murmured to each other, saying things like "crystallized optical fluid," and "alternating patterns of skin discoloration." There was too much medical jargon to really know what they were talking about from this distance, and it was frustrating. He wanted to do, act, be involved.

He let them work without interruption.

The one phrase he did catch and fully grasp the consequences of was expressed in Merlyn's lighter tones. "Gaius, it's the same…"

The same.

This was not the first and only case.

"Gaius, tell me your findings," The king demanded. Arthur kept his eyes pinned to Merlyn's face. Her apprehensive brow betrayed infinitely more than Gaius' stern eyes.

The elder physician stood and clasped his hands behind his back, as he so often did when speaking in court.

"I am unsure about the cause, but this is the second case I've seen today. We could be dealing with the breakout of an unknown ailment." Merlyn stood now as well, keeping her eyes slightly averted from the body.

"Why didn't you report it?" the king snarled, "And what aren't you telling me? You know more than what you say."

Gaius hesitated ever so slightly before speaking. "Sire, I am afraid I do not yet know the exact cause of this man's death."

What careful wording. Arthur was pretty sure he himself could hazard a guess, and he was no physician. He caught the sharp turn of Merlyn's head—she saw what he did in Gaius' answer.

What could prompt Gaius to present a ruse? The man was loyal to Camelot, and one of his father's closest confidantes. His allegiance was not in question, which meant he was trying to protect Camelot somehow. But what—

"Is it sorcery?" Uther questioned, and he saw Merlyn stiffen with a flash of fear and another glance over Arthur's shoulder.

What was she _looking_ at…?

Gaius, for his part, seemed unruffled by being called out. "The scientific process is a long one, Sire, but I struggle to think of an alternative causality."

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest as his father fumed. A magically inflicted illness meant a great number of things, none of them good. There might not be a common factor to eliminate, like rotten grain, and quarantines would be useless if the spell was cast over the entire city.

Worst of all, the cure might not be…natural, in nature.

The king, he noticed, had taken on the air of someone truly incensed. But then he pulled Arthur aside, and he noticed fear in his father's eyes as well.

There were not very many things in this world that made Uther Pendragon cower in fright.

"You must find who did this," the king ordered. Arthur looked at the dead man, and felt the same rage he assumed his father had.

This man died because of the actions of one sorcerer. One person, who took it upon themselves to end life in an indefensible way. Whoever it didn't even give this servant the right to protect himself, to fight for his life honorably. He or she simply took it, for the sake of destruction.

It was inexcusable.

"I will, Father."

The king nodded, satisfied. "You know how to conduct a proper search. Make sure your physician helps Gaius instead of attending to you until this is over."

Arthur saw the logic but there was still a note of protest in him. "But Merlyn—"

"—Is the most qualified person in Camelot to defend against this evil after Gaius. He cannot have a random servant assist him, he needs someone with a certain level of competence."

Arthur forced his shoulders to relax. His father was right. He admitted to having grown…used to Merlyn's company over the last month and a half, but she was obviously needed elsewhere.

"We must give Gaius all the help we can, Arthur." Uther continued, his voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "This is the kind of magic that undermines our authority, challenges everything we've done. If we cannot control the plague, then people will turn to magic for a cure."

No wonder his father was so agitated. "I understand," even though there was something about the king's claims that didn't make sense, that Arthur had never picked up on before. "I'll find him."

King Uther turned away, and Arthur found himself walking toward his physician. She was helping Gaius to put a cloth underneath the diseased man, and Arthur noticed she was making a conscious effort not to touch his skin. He wondered if she was afraid or disgusted or both.

"You'll be helping Gaius until further notice," he told her.

Merlyn didn't argue with him, for once. Instead she just bowed her head looking over the dead in her charge, and gave a soft "Yes, Sire."

He wasn't sure what to make of it. His normally fiery personal physician was oddly subdued. This was not her first interaction with death, he knew. This was not the first time she'd _tended_ to the dead. So why…?

Her eyes flicked over his shoulder once more, and her face paled, her shoulders growing tense beneath her linen tunic.

What did she keep _looking_ at?

There was movement, at the corner of his eye. Green linen tunic with a leather vest.

His servant.

Arthur walked away then, not questioning her again, in public when she had spared him no answers in private and there were more important things to be done.

Arthur's manservant followed silently, and he sensed more than saw the boy tense as he passed Merlyn.

He gave instructions to the nearest captain of the guard. Double the patrols, double the guard, set an early curfew. Suggest setting up a temporary infirmary to the physicians. More control, more control more control, on and on and so forth.

Edwin—yes he did know the boy's name, thank you very much Merlyn—followed him silently. But his obvious terror was off-putting. It was making Arthur tense, raising his awareness so every footfall was an attacker and every shout a war cry.

If it was an isolated action, Arthur would have assumed it was just his fear of the disease. That would be logical, even, considering they had no idea what was causing it other than magic. But it was not isolated, and this was more than his normal skittishness. The boy had acted like this for weeks, and the only common factor as far as Arthur could tell, was Merlyn.

She acted normally toward Arthur. But she was awkward and careful around the boy, where once she'd been friendly and open. For his part, the manservant had basically become mute, and shook like a leaf whenever she was in the room. He'd fainted five times in the last week alone. The first time it happened, Arthur had been amused and cited it as proof that the kid's fainting spells were actually Merlyn's fault. Merlyn had given uncharacteristically weak responses, which was the first sign something was off.

Arthur had only known Merlyn for a short time, but he _did_ know she was rather fond of getting the last word.

So he noticed that this was not just a normal progression of the two peasant's relationship. And after observing Merlyn, he'd almost say she was afraid of the boy. Odd, since previously she'd seemed to kind of mother hen him. And out of character, because Arthur knew from experience that Merlyn was extraordinarily brave. Stupidly brave, even. So what could possibly have happened to make her legitimately afraid of his rabbit-like servant?

Arthur had asked Merlyn, in a very roundabout way about it. She'd responded with deliberate obtuseness, and since then he hadn't confronted either of them, because that would indicate he had far too much interest in the lives and emotions of the people who served him. But, really—the atmosphere when the two of them were in his chambers at the same time was getting rather awkward. He knew something was wrong. They both knew he knew something was wrong. And they both continued to try and skirt around each other anyway.

The fact that they seemed afraid _of each other_ just confused him more.

But Arthur had left it be. Mostly because Arthur was the prince and had no time or even inclination to get involved in the petty squabbles of servants and commoners. Besides, there was no reason for him to insert himself into their personal business. That would just be…messy. And all this emotional stuff made him…disquieted.

But now it was different. They'd probably need Mordecai to act as a liaison between himself and the physicians, in order to get accurate updates on the disease and possible preventative techniques or cures.

Which is why when Arthur reached his chambers he waited for the door to close behind him before spinning to face his manservant.

Edward was obviously startled by the sudden attention, and his knees locked like a startled colt's. His eyes started shifting back and forth and his respiration rate increased with such intensity that the boy had to take a great, gasping breath to steady himself.

"Look," Arthur started, already uncomfortable with this conversation, "It has not escaped my notice that you and Merlyn seem to have had some kind of…falling out."

The boy nearly _seized_ and Arthur saw full-blown panic in his eyes.

Holy hell, what had _happened_ between them?

"Calm down, I'd rather we didn't have to go through this twice," Arthur held up a hand, trying to be as normal as possible. They really did have to get the boy out of the habit of fainting so often. "I'm bringing it up now because I'm going to need you to have some rather direct contact with her in the upcoming days while she works with Gaius to find a cure, and we can't have your personal business getting in the way. The safety of Camelot is at stake."

The boy calmed a little at his words, and his hair seemed to stand on end a little less. "Do you understand?" Arthur prompted.

The manservant nodded, but didn't respond verbally. Arthur sighed. Honestly, this was like talking someone off a building. "Good." Arthur turned to look around the room for his things. He'd need to wear some more appropriate clothing while conducting the searches—less princely and more knightly, as Merlyn might put it.

The tension in the room lessened slightly when he looked away from the servant, and the boy relaxed. Arthur sensed an opportunity and his curiosity got the better of him. "What happened with you two anyway? She used to be rather overprotective of you. Still is, really, she's just not as obvious about it." He tried to make it sound nonchalant, a passing curiosity.

The servant didn't answer right away, and Arthur was about to ask again when he said, very quietly, as if afraid someone other than the walls could hear. "I…told her something."

Arthur blinked, and there was a moment of hesitation as he pulled his gloves on, deliberately not looking at the boy so he might speak. "Really?" Casual, casual, he wasn't _really_ interested, "What was it?"

Another long period of silence. Arthur pointlessly fiddled with his belt while the servant approached with his jacket.

"I…I'd rather not say, Sire. If—if you don't mind."

This _did_ give Arthur pause, because never in his recollection had this boy denied him anything, and so he finally turned to look the servant in the eye.

He was paler than Arthur had ever seen—so pale Arthur was surprised the boy _hadn't_ passed out from the obvious strain. And his brown eyes were blown wide with panic and fear and guardedness that Arthur could not for the life of him divine the origin of. He himself was _not_ that intimidating. He was quite sure of it.

But there was a certain subtle determination there as well—a sense of dignity he'd never seen in his servant before. And Arthur knew better than to trample on someone's dignity, whether they be a man, woman or child, prince or beggar.

"Of course," he responded, "People are allowed their secrets."

The boy's shoulders slumped in relief. "Th—thank you, Sire."

Arthur nodded, trying to dispel the discomfort. "Just don't let it affect your work, whatever it is."

The servant shook his head vehemently, and Arthur saw the return of…apprehension?...in his eyes.

"Now go get my sword—make sure it's sharpened and polished—and bring it to me. I'm off to meet with the Guard Captains and a few knights, you'll have to find me at the stationhouse."

"Yes, milord, right away."

And the boy scurried off, his relief a nearly tangible thing. After a moment, Arthur turned to leave as well, his mind spinning.

He should not have asked, he realized, because now he would _wonder_. Curiosity had always been a hard thing to ignore, for Arthur, and he felt it keenly now. What could the boy have had to tell Merlyn that made them _afraid_ of each other? And what response could she possibly have had for either of them to react like _this_?

 _Perhaps he's in love_ , his mind supplied wryly, and then his hand froze on the door handle.

No…surely not? They…they wouldn't be a good fit. And Arthur got the sense Merlyn regarded the servant as more of a little brother than a possible suitor, if she considered him to be a man at all.

But…he remembered the looks of awe the servant directed at Merlyn sometimes. Completely gob-smacked, as if he could not believe Merlyn existed or behaved the way she did. Arthur remembered feeling equally astounded, at first, before growing used to her insolence and mannerisms. Perhaps those feelings evolved into something else, for the young serving boy?

Arthur walked slowly out of his chambers, trying to shake his thoughts, order his feelings. Focused, he had to stay focused. Camelot was counting on him. He could not be distracted by the dramas of his staff.

Besides, he remembered, it had most certainly _not_ gone over well if that was the case. Merlyn must have rejected the boy if he made such feelings known to her. The thought lightened him, and the whole affair suddenly became much easier to ignore.

Arthur sighed. He should not have asked. He should have known he could not be a casual observer. Nothing involving Merlyn was ever casual.

* * *

"What are you doing?" Merlyn asked. She was sitting at the long wooden table in the center of their chambers—it was Gaius' favorite surface to conduct experiments on, because it had the most room and the flattest top. At the moment, the old physician had a tapered beaker full of a thick, yellow-white liquid and was about to heat it over an open flame.

"This was drained from that man's stomach," Gaius informed her, making a vague gesture to the first of the deceased to cross their path. "What do _you_ think I'm doing?"

Ah, so this was a teaching moment.

"You're…going to see what he had for lunch?" she tried. Gaius looked at her rather sternly. She thought a little harder. "Oh! You're going to see if you can find a common source for the illness."

"Well that _would_ be the first step to finding a cure," Gaius grouched. She let him get away with it, because everyone deserved their coping mechanisms in times of stress.

"Are we _sure_ it's magic?" She inquired, for maybe the third time that day.

Gaius glared at her. Oops, maybe that was the sixth or seventh time she'd asked. Gaius's patience didn't usually run out until Repeated Question Number Five. "Yes, Merlyn. It's magic of the darkest kind."

She frowned as her mentor poured a red liquid into the beaker. "I thought magic didn't have 'good' or 'bad' affiliations. I thought it depended on _how_ it was used. 'The heart of the caster is the heart of the spell,' and all that. So how do you designate any spell 'good' or 'bad?'" Gaius gave her a look, and she felt compelled to explain further. "I mean obviously this is very, very bad, and whoever did it is evil. But couldn't you use the same spell with the opposite effect? Like, instead of making everyone sick you make everyone feel better?"

Gaius sighed, and returned most of his attention to the beaker in his hands, now a rather revolting orange-pink color as the food separated from the acid due to heat. "Magic itself is not good or evil—but it is generally accepted that certain spells are dark. Forbidden, if you will. Things like taking over others' consciousness, for example, are almost universally accepted as bad."

"But what if you had a really excellent reason for doing so? Like…I don't know…If you were using a random guard to get into your enemy's hideout, or get out of the city. Then it would just be self-preservation, right?"

Gaius set the beaker down and started making notes. "Magic exists as it does, Merlyn. But men are not angels, and people use it to evil ends. You only have to look at this plague to know that this is true." (2)

Merlyn frowned now, slightly stung. "But _you_ wouldn't let me use magic to heal those people, either." She sat straighter, feeling a surge of defensiveness and indignation. "I was always taught that standing by when you could do something for someone was a crime in itself."

And finally, Gaius looked at her, and Merlyn was taken aback by the very real anger in his eyes. "Neither of us are doing nothing, Merlyn. We are doing what is best for all people by staying _alive_ to find the cure. Now," He said, wiping his hands on a nearby rag, "If you are done accusing me of sabotaging your vigilantism, help me drain the contents of the second victim's stomach."

Merlyn stood. "But _Gaius_ —"

The door opened and Arthur burst in with a following of guards.

"Search the rooms," the prince declared, his face stern and determined, blue eyes hard. "You, over there," He ordered, pointing to the corner where Gaius stored their winter coats. "You, behind those books."

* * *

Arthur did not particularly like searching people's homes.

It was an invasion of privacy, for one thing. He knew far too much about far too many strangers thanks to these searches. And it was…eye opening, learning about how his subjects lived, how little they had. Once, he'd accidentally asked a family of ten _'that's it?'_ when he'd finished his search of the one-room home. The look he'd received in return had been far from respectful, and there was no adoration or loyalty to be found in their eyes.

Most people, actually, looked at him with resentment while he conducted the searches. Resentment or fear.

Arthur _loathed_  it.

As the prince, he could hang back, guide from afar and let his captains direct on the ground. But he knew his men were sometimes less than careful with people's belongings, and he knew his presence helped to mitigate that, to some extent. And besides, to hang back because of his own discomfort? That felt cowardly.

Still, he let his men do the more…uncouth things. Like searching through the brothels or the dressers of men and women who had…interests. People who were breaking laws and engaging in crimes that were not as serious as the one he was currently trying to stop. His avoidance was less about cowardice and courage than necessity and efficiency. There were things Arthur could not turn a blind eye to as the prince, and things his guards could overlook in his stead.

Arthur made sure to search his acquaintances' homes himself though. He didn't know if that lessened the invasion of privacy or heightened it, but _he_ felt a little better knowing no one else knew what Morgana's shifts looked like.

One of the last stops in the castle was the physician's chambers. A number of factors had resulted in that outcome, including its placement in the easternmost tower—they'd started in the Western wing—and the fact that they _did not_ want to distract the physicians from finding a cure.

Honestly he'd hoped to have found something by now. The only woman he knew better than Merlyn was Morgana, and that had been _incredibly_ awkward.

Actually, now that he thought about it, that was kind of sad. He'd only known Merlyn for a month or so, after all. It's not like they were bosom buddies, no matter her insisting that they were friends.

He did not knock when he entered—that was protocol.

Arthur walked as casually as possible, trying not to give away his discomfort. He was meant to be here, he told himself, to find the sorcerer.

…which actually didn't help at all, because he was quite certain neither Gaius nor Merlyn were in any way affiliated with magic.

So Arthur did what Arthurs do when they get uncomfortable. Give orders. "Search the rooms," he said rather unnecessarily. "You, over there." There was a couple of crates in the corner that could be suspicious. "You, behind those books."

He resolutely strode past the two physicians. Merlyn's face was flushed with anger and irritation—a look he recognized well—and he assumed it was directed at him when she had a whispered conversation with Gaius.

Honestly, he was just doing his job.

He found himself apologizing anyway. "Sorry, Gaius—Can't allow any room to go unchecked." He eyed a shelf with a wooden rabbit mask.

Well, Gaius had always been a little…different. Or maybe it was Merlyn's?

"Searching for the sorcerer?" Merlyn's voice asked from behind him. He turned to eye her.

"Yes," he muttered gruffly, opening the door.

"…and you think it likely you'll find something here?" There was a note of reproach in her voice.

"Like I said, I'm just doing my job." He was surprised at how much it felt like pleading. He tried to take it back. "Can you say you've been doing the same?"

Gaius' voice wafted forward now. "Go on and search, we've nothing to hide," he said calmly, "we were just about to examine the contents of that man's stomach when you came in sire, so I _thank_ you for the delay."

Merlyn's mouth twitched in a smile, and Arthur actually looked up at Gaius in surprise. It seemed tempers were running high with _both_ physicians today.

"We'll be as quick as we can," he promised. After all, this _was_ a formality. Gaius didn't respond except to hover over the guards as they handled his delicate instruments and tomes.

Arthur shuffled through the room, trying to shove away the instinct that made him feel like a wayward child. Then he noticed a particularly messy desk, and moved toward it, thinking he couldn't possibly mess up the order of the items since they were already unorganized. "What are these books and papers?" He asked, honestly curious.

"My life's work in science, if you must know."

Arthur smirked and set the pages down. "Trying to turn lead into gold, Gaius?"

To his surprise the old man scoffed. "Hardly. My life's work has been related to _debunking_ the practice of alchemy—according to all natural phenomena which I have observed, it simply is not possible to change something into that which it is not, without the aid of magic."

Arthur was surprised—and here he'd thought Gaius was a learned man! "You don't study alchemy?" he questioned. "What are all these—these _experiments_ for, then?" For there were a great many beakers and bottles filled with various substances around the room.

"I _do_ study alchemy—I just study why it hasn't worked after four millennia of trying." Gaius tapped the book on top of all his papers, as if to indicate the whole project. "Men have tried and failed for ages to do this transmutation, and I have spent my life trying to discover where they went wrong—not in order to try and make gold myself, but to develop a means of discovery which will work, and carry us further into understanding the natural world than even philosophy or religion can." (3)

Arthur blinked moved away from the papers. He needed to gain better control of his curiosity—it was getting him into all sorts of trouble today.

He noticed a door in the back. "What room is this?"

Merlyn was beside him again. "Mine," she told him, raising one eyebrow in a very Gaius-like manner, as if to say _ready to search through all my private things, you prat?_

Out of the corner of his eye, a well-meaning guard probably thinking he was doing Arthur a favor started toward it.

Thoughts flashed through his mind at lightning speed, of some random stranger going through Merlyn's shifts and dresses, seeing her various pairs of leggings and possibly even undergarments, perhaps even _imagining_ her in them, and _only_ them…

"I'll search it then," he snapped at the guard, just barely managing to refrain from a full-fledged snarl.

Predictably, Merlyn followed behind. " _Will_ you?"

"Yes, I _will_." Better him than anyone else at any rate. The guard he passed on the way looked absolutely bewildered, but Arthur was not feeling particularly apologetic.

In some logical, rational corner of his mind, Arthur recognized that he was not being particularly fair to this man, who hadn't done anything wrong except try and move things along as quickly as possible, per his orders.

Needless to say, Arthur did not quite have it in him to listen to that rational voice in his head today.

"What gives you the right, I wonder." Arthur turned around to send her a glare. She looked at him innocently as he opened the door, and he wondered if her previous anger was directed somewhere else after all. "Just curious," she added abruptly, blue eyes far too guileless to be believable.

"Because I am the prince and today it is my job to conduct a search that could reveal the identity of the sorcerer or sorceress that brought this plague upon us." He gave an over the shoulder gesture as he stepped over her threshold. "It is a matter of protecting the people."

He glanced around her room. It was messier than he'd expected of her, actually. Her dirty clothes were in a pile beside her unmade bed, and her cupboard door was open. A few books lay about in a manner reminiscent of her mentor's chambers. He glanced at the nearest title: _A Study of the Processes of Scarring._

 _Good lord_ , he thought, _she's as bad as Gaius_.

"You should clean more," he sneered, "Then maybe you could see the floor."

"Not everyone has someone they pay to clean up after them," she declared airily, unrepentant. "You said every room would be searched?" She asked.

Much too innocent, he thought. "No one will be given an exemption," he told her distractedly, noticing the colorful ribbons on her nightstand that he'd seen in her hair, some days.

"So yours is being searched, then?"

He spluttered. "What? No—I mean, why would we? I'm a member of the royal family."

Merlyn shrugged. "Morgana's room was searched. I assumed yours must have been as well, seeing as she's practically your sister."

He stared at her, consternated. "There would be no point," he reiterated. "I'm not using sorcery and I'm certainly not the cause of the plague."

She raised a delicate eyebrow. "And I am? And Gaius? _Morgana?_ "

He opened his mouth. Snapped it shut.

"No exceptions," he ground out.

"Except you." She shifted back, popping her hip. "And the king, I suppose. Are there any other nobles?"

His eyes widened, surprise and outrage filling him on reflex. Thoughts of the absolutely _cursory_ search he'd given Morgana's chambers filled his mind, the hesitancy of his guards to touch the belongings of the nobility. His reaction was worsened by the stress of the day, his worry for his people, the repeated invasions of privacy that he had _no choice_ but to conduct, because there were people dying, his people were dying horrifically and it was at least partly his fault because he was the one responsible for protecting them... "He's the king! You would accuse him of sorcery?" He growled.

She seemed surprised by his reaction, her blue eyes widening, and her arms dropping to her sides. "Well _no_ , but—"

"Then I suggest you do yourself a favor and _hold your tongue_ for _once_ , Merlyn."

She did so—more out of surprise than fear of punishment, he suspected. He didn't normally threaten her for her audacity.

He turned back to her things, agitatedly rifling through what appeared to be a junk drawer, full of random keepsakes and objects, like an empty inkwell and a small, hand-carved fish that would fit in one's palm. It was roughly made, a crude likeness. He wondered if she'd made it herself, or if it had been a gift. He wondered if it had been a man, if she'd had suitors before his servant.

He wondered why the thought made him so angry.

Arthur shut the drawer. Looked around. Dropped to the floor to see under the bed. It was clean, except for the occasional dust-bunny.

Finally, he couldn't put it off anymore. He stood and walked to her chest of drawers.

"My undergarments are in there, you know." She told him haughtily. Apparently his minute of silence was up.

 _Well yes, I figured_ , he wanted to say, but there were some topics one was simply not sarcastic about. Instead he glared at her. "I have to look everywhere." She continued to glare. He mentally sighed. "Would you rather someone else do it?" _Would you rather it be a stranger?_

She stiffened at that, then turned away, toward her window. He took that as permission.

Arthur was careful not to look at anything too closely. Was careful not to touch anything he didn't need to, or disorganize anything that was neatly stacked and folded. He went fast, doing this only out of necessity.

He still got glimpses though, and it made his neck and cheeks feel hot.

It was over in under thirty seconds. He stood and closed the drawer.

"We're finished here." He muttered, unsure of what to say to her. It had not happened before, and he was unsure of how to deal with it, didn't like how uncertain it made him feel about himself.

"I'm glad," she told him. He tried not to feel hurt, tried to remember she'd just suffered an indignity.

He exited her room, focusing instead on Gaius. "How long until we have a cure, Gaius?" He thought of the man who died in their courtroom, of the dying ones on the streets, who the people wouldn't touch because they were afraid of the disease they suffered from.

"It depends on the number of interruptions I get," he said pointedly.

Arthur felt his frustration rise. He was just trying to do his _job_. "We'll get out of your hair then." He walked forward, his guards preceding him out the door. Arthur trailed his fingers over the tables and equipment, because he was not uncomfortable, he was not upset, he was simply doing his job and nothing more.

He was almost to the threshold when he heard rapid footsteps behind him, and then a soft pressure on his wrist.

Arthur turned and there was Merlyn, brows furrowed with concern, a mouth still set in irritation and narrow shoulders hunched in silent apology. What struck him though—what settled him—were her almond-shaped eyes, the blue soft with the most profound understanding he'd ever seen directed at him, with a complete lack of judgment or pity. His shoulders seemed to loosen of their own accord, as the stress he'd built up throughout the long day of searching weighed on him just a little bit less.

They did not speak, exchange words or smiles. There was no one emotion that was communed between them, and it would not have been shared even if he could describe exactly what was building in the air around their locked gazes…they simply understood each other, in some fundamental unspoken way. And it was enough.

Then he turned away, feeling lighter than he had since waking this morning, because she had a cure to find and he had a sorcerer to catch, and there was nothing that needed to be said.

* * *

Merlyn and Gaius worked in awkward silence after Arthur left.

They spoke when they needed to—when he needed an extra hand or she didn't quite know what she was looking at—but for the first time in their acquaintance she did not feel that comfortable, almost familial bond with her mentor. In its place was a strain, tainted with guilt and pride and righteousness.

Merlyn knew she could heal these people, if given the chance. She _knew_ it. And it _angered_ her that Gaius would have her stand by and do things differently when there was such an immediate solution right in front of them.

Guiltily, she wondered if Gaius' years of denying himself the practice of magic on people he couldn't heal otherwise had hardened him too much to allow it even when it might be necessary.

She didn't know. Not really. But at any rate she'd been wrong to insinuate that Gaius, kind man that he was, did not care about the people he was meant to heal. She could apologize for that, at least.

Now if only her pride would let her do it.

Slowly she drew a scalpel and collection jar over one of the victims' abdomens. They were collecting material from one of the crystallized lumps that formed on the skin above the digestive track to see what it was made of. Gaius suspected mineral deposits, collected in the final stage of the disease when the victims became severely dehydrated. Gaius' theory was the deposits collected in the intestines and then were pushed up to the epidermal layer as the body froze, contracting from the inside.

He was a short man, with rough hands and what would have been a pleasant face. Absently she wondered if he had a family, and if they knew he was dead. She wondered what his name was, what he'd done for a living.

"Once you're finished with that, come help me with this. I need your eyes to determine the shape of the granules in this distillation."

She nodded to show that she'd heard, and continued to scrape. Little flakes came off of the soft deposits and she swirled them to the bottom of her jar.

It took ten minutes to fill the jar completely, and then when she presented the findings to Gaius he hummed and shook his head, as if worried by what he saw.

Touching the bodies had been hard at first. Still was, really, but Merlyn had adapted to the sensation. Cold like ice, and her magic flinched away from it, as if it stung. It…disturbed her. Her magic hadn't ever responded to something like that before.

Gaius hobbled over to the next table and began to compare Merlyn's findings to some page in a book. She was struck by how terribly old Gaius seemed, his face heavy with exhaustion and worry. Suddenly her pride seemed so petty.

"I'm sorry, Gaius." She said quietly, and the physician looked up at her. "I should not have said what I did. I know you care very much for the people of Camelot, and are doing what you think is best for them. It was very wrong of me to insinuate otherwise."

Gaius removed his glasses and sighed. "I think I must apologize as well. I forgot what it is like to be young and full of power, idealistic." He smiled and shook his head. "It takes practice to channel one's better nature into long-term goals. And I sometimes forget how much practice I've had." He waved her over. "Now—look at this and tell me what you see. The pieces seem to break down in a particular pattern and we might be able to use that to identify—"

There was a soft knock on the door—timid and unsure.

"Come in," Gaius called, even as Merlyn went to open it. The person on the other side surprised her.

"Oswald," she managed, startled and suddenly afraid, as she was every time she was in the young boy's vicinity these days.

"Miss Merlyn," he returned, at least as nervous as she. "I—I have a message from Prince Arthur to Gaius."

She nodded, stiff. "Well come in, you can tell him in person," she told him, opening the wooden door further and allowing him to step inside. Oswald hesitated, and she wondered if it was the horror of the dead or herself that gave him pause.

After a few seconds though, he entered. Gaius greeted him in his usual, brusque way, and Oswald seemed to relax a little. She smiled sadly, thinking of how he was starting to come out of his shell around her before he found out about the magic.

"The king says the lower town is to be quarantined," Oswald spoke, "Everyone who is infected will be brought there, regardless of rank or class."

She cocked her head worriedly, but did not protest. It was a harsh measure, but it made sense. As many people as possible had to be protected, and since they didn't know how the disease was spreading, there wasn't really a better alternative.

"We'll make sure all the sick that come our way are taken down there," Gaius assured.

Oswald nodded. Then opened his mouth and paled severely.

There was an awkward silence.

Merlyn had wondered when he might ask. She'd seen the question rise in the throne room, when it was determined that the cause of the illness was sorcery.

"It wasn't me, Oswald," she said softly, ignoring the pang in her heart at his doubt. "It isn't me, and it will never _be_ me."

The servant seemed to relax a little more. He gave her a slightly apologetic look. "I know, Miss Merlyn. I just…"

He was just unsure, and that hurt too.

Merlyn appraised him. Oswald looked sick and tired, but not in the way of the plague, thankfully. It looked more like chronic stress and fatigue. And she knew it was related to her, and his concerns _about_ her especially.

He was afraid—just like she feared everyone would be.

She still didn't know why he'd agreed to keep it a secret. When he'd promised to do so as long as she didn't harm Camelot, she'd been too scared to question it.

Now, she was desperate to know why he kept the secret and why he trusted her at all.

"Have you found a cure yet?" He asked awkwardly, and she knew he inquired about a _magical_ cure.

She glanced at Gaius, and knew she wasn't able to keep all of the accusation out of her eyes when he glared back.

"No," Gaius told him sternly, but his agitation was directed at Merlyn. "No we have not."

Oswald looked like he knew he'd stepped in it and he hurried to make his escape. "Prince Arthur has finished searching," Oswald told them. "I should be attending to him."

She thought of the heavy weight in Arthur's eyes from this morning, when he'd been searching their rooms. "Did he find anything?" She asked, hopeful.

Oswald shook his head in the negative and inched toward the door. "Not that I'm aware of, Miss Merlyn. Excuse me."

He made a beeline for the door before she could get another word in.

"I was afraid of that," Gaius muttered, returning his attention to a set of vials in front of him. "A sorcerer of this power would never be in the city while his magic acted."

Merlyn frowned. "So why the search?"

Gaius sighed, "Because, Merlyn, it gives the illusion of control over an uncontrollable situation," and he suddenly looked very old, his face sagging with years of too many deaths and too much regret. "More importantly, it gives people a little hope."

* * *

It was nearly evening when Merlyn and Gaius had a breakthrough. It came in the form of a deceased noblewoman, a few years older than Merlyn. She still wore a gold and red dress that she'd probably donned that very morning, when she'd been perfectly healthy.

She did not understand what made Gaius so interested in this particular victim over all the others until he questioned her.

"Tell me what she tells us, Merlyn."

Merlyn assessed the victim. "She's the first woman to succumb to the disease. Maybe women have a natural resistance to it?" Gaius waved her forward. "She's a courtier, probably a mid-rank noblewoman." She would not be a contestant for marriage to Arthur and his ilk, but she would have high enough status for pretty much anyone else.

"Yes, yes, now what does that tell us about the disease?"

Merlyn was not entirely sure what Gaius was getting at. "She…doesn't interact with the townspeople." she realized. And if they were looking for a source of the pestilence, that meant it had to be in something everyone in Camelot comes into contact _with_. "It's in the water!" She realized excitedly. It made sense, too. If you were going to try and poison a city, the water source was pretty much the one thing no one could live without.

"I believe so." Gaius said warmly. "I told you, Merlyn, science would lead us to the answers we need."

"Indeed," she told him grinning. Then she blinked. "Should we tell the king and Arthur?"

Gaius shook his head, "No, we'll make sure it's true first. Go draw a bucket from the well."

"Right" she told him, and he shooed her toward the door.

But just as she made to leave Gaius' chambers, Gwen rushed in.

Merlyn was instantly concerned. Her friend's warm cheeks were pale, and there were tears streaming from her terrified, doe-like eyes.

"Merlyn," She sobbed, and it sounded like begging.

"Gwen!" Her good mood from seconds ago was now dissolved like mist. "Gwen what happened?"

She gasped, hiccuping, and Merlyn went to take her hands. "It's—my father." Her voice broke on the last word. "He has the sickness."

"Oh, _Gwen_ ," Merlyn whispered, pain snatching at her heart. The handmaiden shook with the force of her grief and fear.

"Please," she begged, "please you have to have a cure. You must. I'll do _anything_."

Gaius' voice sounded from behind her. "We have no cure, Gwen. I'm _sorry_."

Merlyn did not move. She did not speak though her heart burned at the lie. _She_ could heal Gwen's father. She could do something to save _everyone_.

She watched as Gwen's heart broke and all hope departed from her.

"He's all I _have_ ," she whimpered, her face crumpling with sorrow and pain.

Merlyn made sure to look her in the eyes. "Gwen. You should go to him. I'll tell Morgana you won't be coming in tomorrow."

She sobbed, but sucked in a breath as if that would strengthen her, and nodded. Gwen turned away with dignity, and Merlyn's heart silently promised to honor it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) I realized I didn't really make it clear earlier—I reinvented Merlyn's neckerchief to be an ascot/scarf thing. Think Daphne from Scooby-Doo. Yes, that was my inspiration.
> 
> (2) I cannot take credit for Gaius' comment about men not being angels. I paraphrased from James Madison in his Federalist No. 51. For you non-Americans or non-history/government buffs, in that article he defends the need for a strong central government over a federation of states (I know, the name is misleading). It was part of a series of articles known as The Federalist Papers, and they were written in order to convince revolutionary-era Americans that this was the correct form of government for the developing country. Madison was an incredible writer and thinker, and the actual quote is quite beautiful, in my opinion. It has nothing to do with Merlin but I was reminded of it when I was writing that scene about the nature of magic "But what is government itself, but the greatest of all reflections on human nature? If men were angels, no government would be necessary. If angels were to govern men, neither external nor internal controls on government would be necessary. In framing a government which is to be administered by men over men, the great difficulty lies in this: you must first enable the government to control the governed; and in the next place oblige it to control itself."
> 
> (3) I think most of us are fairly aware that, while preeminently enjoyable, Merlin is not exactly the most historically accurate of TV shows. One of the areas in which this is most obvious is the apparent medical and scientific knowledge of Gaius and even other characters. According to my five minute Wikipedia search, the real-life King Arthur, assuming he existed at all, supposedly lived around 500 AD/CE, whichever you prefer. Gaius presents an understanding of science and medicine that did not actually exist until well into the Enlightenment (I mean hell, it took Descartes and his ideas about dualism for people to even consider the idea of human dissection for scientific exploration, and they were still doing bloodletting in the early 1800s. Look up how George Washington died. Go on. I dare you.), which was around a thousand years after this all takes place. This means, at the time in which Merlin takes place, Alchemy (the study of trying to turn lead and other materials into gold) was the premier 'science' of the day, and it was a precursor to modern chemistry. However, alchemists were also philosophers and theologians, and their work was often not based in experimentation but natural logic (especially during the middle ages). So, keeping the show's blatant historical inaccuracies in mind, I decided to go whole hog. Blame pre-Purge magic for their scientific improvement, I don't know.
> 
> ALL THIS TO SAY, Gaius' life's work is basically an attempt to regulate the discipline known as science—in other words, he's presenting what we would call the Scientific Method, and he's using the rather disorganized discipline of alchemy to explain why it's necessary.
> 
> So? How was it? Any guesses about Oswald? Do you like angsty, unknowingly jealous Arthur? Is their relationship moving too fast? Tell me like it is, guys. I love critical feedback.
> 
> I humbly thank you for reading. Blessings to you all and all your endeavors. Now. I have been awake for...thirty-seven hours, and I think I am going to go to sleep. Night, everyone. Or morning. Or whatever.


	5. Uther is all the Reasons Democracy is a Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlyn and Kilgharrah have a disagreement, Arthur gets a slightly dubious lead, and Uther is all the reasons democracy is a thing.

"This is not a good idea, little witch."

Deep in the darkened cavern of the Dragon's Keep, Merlyn looked up from her spell book to peer incredulously at a very large dragon who just happened to be her mentor/friend/constant nag.

"What about this is a bad idea?" She asked indignantly, voice screeching up half an octave in her ire.

Kilgharrah was mounted on his usual perch, his gold eyes nearly catlike in the flickering flames of her hovering torch. "Doing this will put you in great danger. Increase suspicion and paranoia. Cause panic."

Merlyn scowled. "You're the one who's paranoid," she huffed, returning her attention to her book. "I'll be _healing_ these people. I'm sure they'll all be too grateful for their lives to ask too many questions."

The great beast growled, and she thought the dark gold of Kilgharrah's scales maybe glowed a little brighter. "Think, Merlyn! You cannot expect all these people to be cured without asking questions. Who will provide explanations? How will you deal with the hysteria?"

"It will not be mine to deal with, of course." Merlyn eyed a spell at the bottom of the page. It wouldn't work—it seemed very specific to non-magical illnesses. "No one will know it was me. They will have no one to scapegoat, and they will simply have to accept their good fortune."

There might be flames curling from the dragon's scaly lips. "You will be curing symptoms rather than the disease. You may even make it worse. Do not do this, child, for the Old Religion works in terms of balance. Man's magic is not free—there is always a price, a term to the contract."

"But Kilgharrah," she protested, unable to believe that the dragon was siding with Gaius. "I can save them. How can you ask me to stand by while my friends and fellow citizens suffer?"

The dragon's voice grew solemn. "You must," Kilgharrah declared, "for the sake of your destiny, in order to protect Arthur, you must—"

"I told you, I don't believe in destiny!" She interrupted impetuously, irritation rising. "I _know_ what my magic is for—it's to help people. Not just Arthur. _Everyone_." She stood now, letting the book close over her pointer finger to hold her place. "And I will use it to the benefit of others!"

"Your magic is to help Arthur!" The dragon roared, incensed in a way Merlyn had not yet seen or experienced. Most of her wanted to shrink back from him, from the power rolling off the beast in waves, demanding her respect and obedience. But there was a small part—a tiny kernel of her soul—that would not be cowed and back away in fear from this creature. Kilgharrah was her better in many ways, and deserved respect—but she would not be afraid of him. "Your magic was given to you for that purpose, and that purpose only."

"And I will do it!" She shouted, "But because he is my friend! Today he is safe, but others are not. Who am I to confine the benefits of my magic to one person, Kilgharrah? Why shouldn't it be for the benefit of all those I can reach?"

Kilgharrah scoffed, "You are young. You know not what you ask of yourself." The dragon almost seemed saddened for a moment before returning to his anger. "You cannot save everyone, Merlyn. The realities of this world, the realities of _Uther's_ world, prevent it. Let your friends die with dignity. It is their destiny to do so."

" _I don't accept that!_ " She screamed, and somewhere deep in the cavern a stalactite fell as her magic reacted with her rage, her chest heaving from her passion. "Who are you to decide the destinies of those who live above your head?" She snarled, her reason and tact abandoning her. "You cannot possibly know the complex web of the lives above completely. You cannot claim to know when someone lives and dies, Kilgharrah, you are not _God_."

Kilgharrah did not speak, and instead gave her a moment to calm herself. Merlyn kept her eye contact with the dragon, refusing to turn away first as he tried to stare her down. That small, defiant part of her grew warmer, deeper, settled softly and like steel in her bones. She would not back down. She would not allow this creature to dominate her will with his talk of futures not yet come. Finally, the look in Kilgharrah's eyes grew resigned, and his shuffling of wings heralded his concession.

"Careful, young witch, that you do not make the same mistake of which you accuse _me_." The dragon warned. "Now, what exactly _is_ this plan of yours?"

Merlyn took a deep breath, trying to calm herself now that Kilgharrah was making an actual effort. "All of those affected by the plague are brought immediately to an infirmary set up in the lower town. I'm going to go down there, get into the infirmary, cast a spell to heal all those affected by the plague, and run like the hounds of hell are snapping at my heels."

If anything, this seemed to agitate Kilgharrah more. "Will not their loved ones be there? How will you prevent any from seeing you? And what spell, exactly, do you think you will be able to use?"

She sighed. "I'm going to put everyone in the infirmary in a deep slumber. Most of them will probably be fairly drunk anyway, since many are using the alcohol to pass without pain." She shrugged. "I'm going to borrow a friend's cloak, and I'll just keep the cowl up so no one sees my face. And I'll wear a dress—I'm recognizable wearing my leggings so that won't do. As for the spell," she waved the book at Kilgharrah pointedly. "That's what I'm down here to figure out."

The dragon looked at her for a long moment before shaking his long neck and triangular head in a manner that made her think he was almost as amazed at her stupidity as he was angry at her stubbornness. "Your plan is foolish. Simplistic. A great many things could go wrong." Something in her expression must have told him she would not be warned off. "I recommend the revocation spell," he told her resignedly, "You do not have to heal so much as undo the magic that was cast. Unless the sorcerer was _exceptionally_ powerful, you should not have trouble."

Merlyn nodded and looked through her book. She murmured the spell a few times, knowing instantly that she would not have the same problems with this spell as she had with the revelation spell. Having broken through to that almost meditative state in which her magic spoke to _her_ once before, Merlyn found it easy to do so now.

"Thank you, Kilgharrah," she told him as she replaced her book in its hiding place.

"Do not thank me, Merlyn," The dragon's voice had a hard edge that she had never heard before. "You are making a mistake. I do not agree with your actions. And soon you will see your error." The dragon's head stretched further toward her, his great head only a few feet from Merlyn and she suddenly felt terribly small as his flaming eyes drilled into her. "You play with fire, child. Man's magic always demands a price. What you do cannot occur without consequence, and it seems you will learn the hard way."

* * *

It was dark in the long corridors of the castle's eastern wing. Some diligent servant had dampened the torches that lined the halls, and so the only light came from the moon through the soaring windows that lined Camelot's many hallways. In her and Gaius' little corner, the light was sparse and the shadows long. Merlyn stood in a crease between walls, where the night was blackest, with an eye on Gaius' door.

Occasionally she heard distant footsteps, crisscrossing the labyrinthine castle in every which direction and echoing off of the empty stone walls. She tensed in anticipation every time a pair of feet neared closer to her position, and felt annoyance and irritation when they did not resolve into the individual she was waiting for.

Merlyn rubbed her hands on her darkest, cheapest dress, an attempt to appear unremarkable. So long as she wore clothes that were not her usual, and allowed no one to see her face, there was no reason for anyone to connect her with the act she was about to commit.

Evil, they would call it, though she could save them all. Treason, though she did it out of loyalty and duty and kindness.

A figure came around the corner, his footsteps self-consciously light. With her eyes so-adjusted to the dark, Merlyn could see his silhouette as he traversed the last of the stairs before Gaius' chambers. He turned toward the door, as if to knock, and Merlyn took measures to prevent him.

"Oswald!" she hissed, "Do not wake Gaius!"

The poor, skittish servant jumped rather violently and whirled toward her, but obviously had no idea where she was. Merlyn took a step forward, knowing her pale skin would give her location away as she did. He stilled, but Merlyn could still tell even in the dark that his body language spoke of wariness and a certain guarded nature that she could not have removed with better lighting.

"Miss Merlyn?" He inquired in a rather loud whisper. She waved him towards her so their voices wouldn't carry through the wooden planks of the door. He approached slowly and with caution.

"Do you have the cloak?" She asked, her voice hoarse due to the whispering.

He handed her a bundle of thick rough cloth. She took it quietly and slung it around her shoulders, tying the knot at the front and then throwing up the cowl.

"Would you recognize me?" Merlyn spun around for effect.

Oswald shrugged tensely, like he wasn't sure if that was a rhetorical question or not. "I canna' see your face, Miss."

She nodded. That would have to do for now. She pulled a letter out of her pocket, and handed it to Oswald. "Give that to the Lady Morgana, will you?" The note explained that Gwen would not be able to make it in the next day, because her father was grievously ill, and Gwen would need the day to mourn. It also explained that Merlyn was terribly sorry for not explaining in person, but was working late into the night to find a cure, and did not want to break for anything. Hopefully, it would be enough to satisfy Morgana, who'd been giving her calculating glances for weeks now.

The servant nodded reluctantly, accepting the folded letter. He paused, nervous, and she could see him screwing up the courage to ask her some kind of question.

"What're you…" He took a deep breath, "What're you going to do, Miss Merlyn?"

She smiled at him in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "I'm going to heal the sick, Oswald."

Merlyn did not explain further. She did not want the boy to accidentally give himself away if this all went horrifically wrong. Besides, if he was questioned, in all likelihood that meant she was somehow being accused as well. No need for Oswald to suffer too.

The boy shifted uncomfortably. "Do you…do you need help?"

Merlyn shook her head, a seed of fondness spreading in her chest for the kind boy. "No, that's alright. You've already helped me loads with this cloak. Thank you, Oswald."

He gave her a weak smile that she could see even in the dim light. "I think I should be thanking you, Miss. For, you know…" he shrugged to convey his meaning.

Merlyn nodded, feeling slightly bashful. "You don't need to thank me, but you're welcome."

There was a strange pause in which neither physician nor servant really knew what to say. Then Oswald moved away then, his awkward gait carrying him toward his chambers without another word.

That was fine. Oswald should have no further part in this anyway.

* * *

"Sire! Sire! There's great news!"

The doors to Arthur's chambers slammed open with all the ceremony of a rampaging rhinoceros. Arthur blearily lifted his head from his pillows, not quite willing to open his eyes and greet the day. A short, stocky man with a thick head of brown curls and permanent scruff stood before him.

"What is it, Gareth?" He mumbled. His normally composed squire was absolutely jittery. He could not seem to stay in the same place for more than five seconds and his smile threatened to tear something if it remained that painfully stretched for too long. Arthur sat up, shivering from the cold air, and went over to retrieve his nearest tunic from his closet. Discretely, he gave an experimental sniff, just to check. It smelled like the lye Marvin used to wash his clothes, and a faintly woody scent that reminded him of his physician.

"Sire, the people who were in the infirmary last night. They're all healed!"

Arthur spun, his eyes widening involuntarily. "What? The ones infected with the plague?"

Gareth nodded excitedly and Arthur had to wonder if he'd had a friend who was previously ill. "Indeed, Sire. One of the victim's family members went to check on them in the morning and found twenty people perfectly well!"

Arthur gave Gareth a small smile, even as his mind whirled. What did this mean? The plague was based in magic, and this reeked of sorcery. No one had yet improved from the illness, and suddenly twenty people are cured overnight? No, someone lifted it. Perhaps even the sorcerer who cast the enchantment? But why would they lift an enchantment they cast?

Maybe…because someone they loved became ill? Someone they didn't intend to kill?

"I must speak to my father," he decided. After all, it was possible that Gaius had simply found a cure and given it to the victims overnight. They still needed to find the cause of the disease, and find a way to stymie it. Some way to remove the contagion.

"He is meeting with the physician Gaius in the throne room," Gareth told him, "Your presence is requested."

"Thank you, Gareth," he offered as he rushed past. Gareth was obviously on message duty. That was one aspect of being a squire he himself had never been subjected to. Arthur's days as a squire were more about rank and training than the monotonous, tedious duties most of his peers had put up with. He remembered feeling vaguely bad for his fellows, not having to run all over the castle as they did.

The long tails of his coat billowed behind him as he walked determinedly down to the throne room. The halls of Camelot's citadel were filled with people, but they parted around him as he approached, a buffer of rank and duty taking visible form.

Normally this would bother him in some intangible way. Normally he would guiltily regret the space, because it separated him on a level that was more than physical. Normally he would never acknowledge such doubts or longing, not even in his own heart. Normally his repression would express itself as bad temper, sharp words, ill-planned actions. For once, however, he was a bit glad for it. The space allowed him to think and observe.

His people looked happy. Much different than the barely-repressed panic of the day before. Today there were smiles, fond greetings, lingering in the halls and touches on the shoulders. A thrill in the air. Relief.

If this was sorcery, Arthur could understand why his father was so afraid of the people turning to it in their need. What he didn't quite understand, was why his father thought this a bad thing. Surely fact that twenty people had lived through the night proved sorcery was more complex than his father usually seemed to think?

Arthur shook his head as he passed the grand tapestries and approached the large, oaken doors of the throne room. These thoughts were unworthy. Approaching treasonous, actually. His father was King. It did not matter if Arthur disagreed or not. As his son, and as a knight, it was his sworn duty to follow him and trust him to lead. His father's word was law, and that was all there was to it. If Camelot were to thrive, if she were to be centered around principles of order and justice, that was all there was to it.

The prince nodded to the guard, who pulled the handle of the great door. Inside, Arthur was unsurprised to see Gaius and the king hunched over a long wooden table. They both looked incredibly stressed. He _was_ surprised, however, to see Merlyn standing just a few steps from her mentor and guardian.

She looked tired, as if she hadn't so much as closed her eyes since she woke the day before. Dark circles bruised the pale skin under her eyes, all the more concerning for their stark contrast to her complexion. Despite that, there was a small, satisfied smile creeping at her lips, a certain lightness to her stance, and a giddiness that was probably borne from her exhaustion and relief at last night's turn of events. She was wearing a dress again, he noticed. A dark green one over a chemise. Merlyn never wore dresses when she was trailing after him. They made her look more feminine than usual. He wondered which she preferred.

She glanced at him as he approached his father. Her blue eyes held something indefinable, but there was no anger or caustic emotions, at least. It was probably washed away in her happiness over her patients' recoveries. If nothing else, he could certainly be grateful for _that_. Morgana had taught him a long time ago that a woman with a grudge was nearly impossible to live or work with, and that was when there was a whole castle between them. He and Merlyn had no such luxuries, and once this crisis was over Arthur had no desire to work with a stubborn, resentment-filled Merlyn. Lord knew she was disobedient enough as it was.

"Arthur," his father greeted, "I assume you have heard the news? Someone cured all those in the infirmary last night."

Arthur looked between the two men. "It wasn't you then, Gaius?"

The old physician shook his head. "I've not found a cure yet, Sire. But I found the cause of the disease." The weathered hand pointed to a small vial of water with a flower in it. The petals were wasted, rotted with disease, but there was a familiar white-blue tinge to it.

"Water?" he asked, reaching for the vial.

"Don't touch it, Sire!" Gaius snapped uncharacteristically. Arthur withdrew his hand, feeling like a guilty child. "This flower has only been soaking since dawn. Simple contact with the contaminated water is enough to make one ill."

Arthur resisted the urge to swallow. "What well?"

"The one from the lower town," Merlyn responded, and his attentions shifted to his personal physician. Gaius, too, turned to look at her. "We're checking all of them now, but the one from the lower town is probably the most heavily contaminated, considering most of the diseased come from that area."

Arthur looked at his father hopefully. "We will remove the quarantine then?" He'd been so against that decree, so afraid to cut off the people who could be saved. The citizens of Camelot depended on him for safety—it went against the grain to deny them the ability to protect themselves.

The king looked at the vial consideringly, as if thinking something through. "Are we certain that contact between infected and uninfected will not further spread the disease?"

Gaius turned to the king, and Arthur found himself grateful for the old man's calm and logical manner. "We've seen no evidence that such would be the case, my lord." Gaius gestured to himself and Merlyn. "Neither of us have taken ill, and we've been working with almost constant exposure for the last two days. If it could be transmitted through contact, we likely would have caught it by now."

Arthur took a deep breath through his nose, too subtle for anyone to catch. Merlyn had been in more danger these last few days than he cared to think about. "If we don't lift the quarantine, we'll be forcing these people to poison themselves," he added.

His father nodded once. "We'll set a guard to watch the well." The king straightened, putting his fists on his hips, bright eyes flashing with sudden ferocity. "What of the miraculous cure, Gaius? It is the work of sorcery, is it not?"

The old man seemed undecided. "It could be. I assume there was no physical evidence of sorcery left behind? No poultice or herbs or incense?"

The king shook his head, looking frustrated. "No, nothing like that. It just seems…too coincidental."

Gaius shrugged. "If there is no evidence other than their recovery, I cannot say if it was sorcery or not." The aged man gingerly took the vial, and Merlyn stepped forward with a pot. "Perhaps it is simply a miracle."

His father grunted noncommittally. "Perhaps. But you're sure the cause of the illness is sorcery, Gaius?"

Gaius nodded. "I'm positive."

The king waved a hand. "Leave us, then. Try and find a cure, and determine if the rest of the wells are safe to drink from."

The old man bowed haltingly, his body nearly incapable of the contortion. Behind him, Merlyn executed a passable curtsy, although she didn't quite possess the grace one might expect from a woman. "My lord," Gaius acknowledged, and the two physicians turned to leave. Merlyn shot him a quick smile as she turned away. Arthur tilted his chin up in response.

The doors closed behind the physicians, and Arthur turned expectantly to his father. The king was pacing before his throne.

"It's sorcery, Arthur." The king whispered fiercely. "It's sorcery. I can feel it."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "Gaius seemed uncertain."

The king waved a gloved hand, dismissing the concern. "Gaius is almost never certain of anything. And he wishes to control panic. It's part of his job as the physician."

Arthur nodded slowly, trying to understand. "You think the sorcerer who caused the illness also healed the people in the infirmary last night?" Arthur shook his head. "That doesn't make sense. Why undo one's own work?"

"Who am I to know the mind of a sorcerer?" the king snarled, and Arthur just barely refrained from flinching. "Besides, if magic was used to cause the illness, I find it unlikely that magic wasn't used to cure it."

The manic light in his father's eyes chilled him, somehow. "Perhaps it is as Gaius said—a miracle."

The king stopped suddenly, and gave Arthur an intense, unfathomable look. "Something you should learn before you become King, Arthur." His father stalked closer. "There is no such thing as miracles. Coincidences do not exist. And everything which is given is bought with a price." Arthur did not swallow, and he did not blink. His father seemed satisfied and returned to his pacing. "With that in mind," he continued, "I want you to search the town again. Especially the homes of the people who were healed last night."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "We searched everywhere in Camelot yesterday." It took almost eighteen hours and four groups of men, but they'd eventually finished. "If the sorcerer is here at all, I will not be able to find them."

The king whirled on him. "Don't you see, Arthur?" The king's voice held anger, frustration, contempt, and his eyes held a sort of manic gleam. "Don't you see? The sorcerer must be one of the victims, or the victims' family members. Otherwise why get involved _now_? They must have condemned someone they didn't mean to, and to avoid casting suspicion on themselves they healed everyone."

Arthur shook his head in disbelief, "It could have just been a compassionate stranger, Father."

The king's leather-bound fist came down hard on the wooden table, and the ancient legs shook against the concrete. "Sorcerers feel no compassion, Arthur!" He yelled. "They are nothing but evil, creatures so dark and unfathomable that they cannot be conceived by the minds of men." His father's gaze turned eager and confident. "You know this. I have taught you this."

Arthur nodded, unsure of what else to do. "I know, Father."

The king nodded. "You will conduct your search. Don't forget to put a guard on the well."

Arthur bowed, to hide the anxiety in his eyes. "Yes, Father." He turned to walk out the front door, trying to collect his thoughts.

"And Arthur?" His father called, voice soft but steely. "Do _not_ disappoint me."

* * *

Merlyn followed Gaius back to their chambers with uncharacteristic submissiveness. She was waiting for the explosion, for the lecture, for the anger. Still, she couldn't bring herself to regret her actions from the night before. Twenty people were condemned by magic, and by magic she freed them. She couldn't feel any remorse for that.

Still, as they approached their chambers, she couldn't help but feel a little trepidation. Gaius had not spoken a word since hearing about the 'miracle recovery' of those in the infirmary. She was beginning to wonder if he planned on speaking to her at all today. Perhaps he would be proud, when he realized how well she'd covered her tracks? How nothing could be pinned on any one person?

She shut the door behind her as she entered their chambers. Merlyn turned slowly to Gaius, who was standing in the center of the room like he was trying to calm himself down.

They stood like that for several seconds, and then finally Merlyn couldn't take it anymore. "Gaius, I—"

"Merlyn." Gaius' voice was fraught with anger. She winced and the old physician turned to her, his watery blue eyes ablaze. He held hers for a few seconds before she grew too uncomfortable with the accusing stare and looked away. She heard Gaius sigh and take a seat at the experimentation table. "Oh, my dear, what have you done?" Now he just sounded sad and forlorn. Afraid.

But he didn't need to be, surely. "Gaius, I healed them. All of them." She frowned. "Because I could, and I have the ability to. Isn't that my duty as a healer? As a protector of Camelot?"

The old man did not move or look at her. "Merlyn, Uther suspects sorcery. He's going to react poorly when no obvious culprit arises, and then I fear for everyone's head."

She frowned, stepping toward him. "I was careful, Gaius. Really. No one saw me, and I made sure everyone was deeply asleep before I cast the revocation spell. I wore a cloak that was not my own, and I made sure I didn't look like myself. I wore a dress, even, and nobody would recognize me in that."

Gaius finally looked up at her, and she was disturbed by the weariness in his eyes, as if his fear was too constant to hold its potency any longer. "Oh Merlyn, I know you _thought_ you were doing good. But you have no idea what Uther is capable of when he decides magic is at work in his kingdom." Gaius looked at his books, almost like he was hoping for an answer. "Merlyn we're doomed."

His hands shook with something that was not age.

* * *

"Here, Sire," A jug of water was shoved into Arthur's hands. "It's water drawn from the river outside of town. It should be safe to drink."

Arthur looked down at his manservant. The boy's cheeks were red with exertion, no doubt having carried a fair amount of water from the river. Maybe they could conscript some carpenters into building an aqueduct and temporary aquifer for the town? So people wouldn't have to dehydrate themselves getting safe water.

"Good thinking, Odwin." He told the boy, and took a hearty sip.

The boy opened his mouth as if to say something and then closed it. Then opened it again. "I met Miss Merlyn on the way down here, Sire." Arthur felt his attention sharpen. "She asked if you found anything."

Arthur scowled, his previous distraction gone. The manservant tensed beside him at his displeasure. "No. Not yet." But there was only one house left to search, and Arthur was almost certain they wouldn't discover anything new.

All the reports from the victims were the same. When they fell asleep the night before, they were certain they would not wake in the morning. To their surprise, they woke with the sun and felt better than they had in years, as if all previous ailments were removed as well. The reports from the others in the tent—the victims' families and spouses—were much the same. One said she had been intending to keep a vigil through the night for her husband, but in the early hours of the morning she found herself growing too tired to even lift her head. When she woke, her husband, and everyone else, was healed.

It was not a lot to go on, although Arthur was fairly certain at this point that his father was right. Someone healed these people magically. The uniformity of their stories was telling. The problem was, Arthur was fairly certain it could not be the same person who cast the original spell. If it was, then these sorcerers were truly a confusing breed.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair when he was certain no one was looking. It was a habit he was trying to break. It gave too much away.

If only he had his father's experience hunting sorcerers. He would have found something by now. As it was, the only real experience Arthur had with magic was the odd assassination attempt and the accused caught basically red-handed with magical artifacts or performing rituals. There was none of this hunting for the source of the spell. It was a very different kind of act. More uncertain. More guilt involved too, on his part.

They entered the last house. He recognized it as the lower-town blacksmith's. Arthur tried to ignore the stab of guilt he felt in his gut. Tom was an excellent blacksmith and a kind man. His daughter, Guinevere, served Morgana. Merlyn was friends with them. Arthur commissioned the sword strapped to his hip from Tom.

The man in question greeted Arthur warily. "Hullo, Sire."

Arthur nodded to him. "Hello, Tom." He was genuinely glad the man was feeling better, so he nodded to him. "I'm glad you're well."

The man gave him a genuine smile, seeming to relax a little. "I feel healthy as an ox, milord."

Arthur returned a small, tired smile. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to search your home again." Tom nodded in a sort of resigned way, and Arthur drew him aside as his men entered. "Be careful with this man's things," he called to the guards. "I'll fine you personally for everything you break."

Tom gave him a surprised look, with a touch of awe. "That's not necessary, Sire."

Arthur shrugged uncomfortably. This was the man's livelihood, and all he'd done was get sick and then get better. It was the least he could do for invading his home twice in as many days. "Tell me about last night, Tom. Did you see anything? Hear anything?"

The big man shrugged amiably. "I was in the infirmary. My daughter Gwen was with me." The man's brow furrowed a little. "I was very sick. Couldn't move. Could barely breathe. Felt like my insides were trying to pop out of my skin. Everything felt like a dream. I couldn't really sleep, even, the pain was so great." His eyes clouded over in memory. "I think I remember a door opening. And…a woman's voice?" Tom shook his head. "After that it all goes dark. I've no idea what she said, or if she even existed at all. It could just be I saw Gwen next to me, or she said something in her sleep. When I woke I felt better than I have in years. Like I'm twenty years old again." The kind blacksmith finished with a wide smile. Arthur couldn't believe his luck.

So they were searching for a woman. Maybe. Tom's story was pretty unreliable, considering the state he'd been in the night before. He was also the only one who remembered anything at all. He'd offer the information to his father with caution, make sure he knew how unreliable the whole thing was. The king would know better than Arthur how to proceed from here.

Predictably, his men filed out empty handed. He turned to the blacksmith. "If there's any damages, let me know. Thanks for your time, Tom."

The cheerful man gave a small wave and then went to pick up a hammer. Arthur pounded up the streets, just barely refraining from breaking into a run. His manservant appeared at his side again, and Arthur blinked, turning to him.

"Have you been here this whole time?" he asked, honestly surprised. The boy nodded, his face filled with a familiar paleness. Arthur made his voice a little gentler in an attempt to prevent his manservant from panicking and fainting. "Did you hear all that?" The boy nodded again, the muscles in his throat contracting in a manner that looked quite painful. _Don't faint don't faint don't faint_. "Think you can go let Merlyn and Gaius know we might have a lead? It might help them."

The boy nodded vigorously, never once relaxing. Arthur peered at him, not sure if it was actually safe to send him off at the moment. "You're not going to faint, are you?" The servant shook his head, unable, apparently, to even make a sound. His face was so bloodless though that Arthur had a hard time thinking he wasn't going to simply pass out at the next available opportunity. Even Arthur wasn't so irresponsible towards his staff that he'd just allow him to lie prone in the streets for an extended period of time. He seemed to think he was capable though, and he _was_ heading to the physicians… "Alright. Off with you then." He gave a wave of his hand, and the boy nearly bolted towards the citadel.

Hm. _Someone_ was eager. To…see Merlyn?

Arthur tried to put it out of his mind. He needed to inform his father of his findings.

Of course, the long walk from the lower town to the citadel made that resolution a little difficult to put into practice.

He felt…odd, when he thought of his servant's apparent interest in his physician. It wasn't like it was completely unfathomable. Merlyn was kind to the boy. She was admittedly not repulsive looking. It made sense that the boy would have some…affection for her.

What didn't make sense was this sort of clawing _anger_ he felt deep in his chest when he thought of it.

Perhaps it was because Merlyn obviously wasn't interested? He wasn't _friends_ with his staff, of course, but it was natural to feel protective of a woman, wasn't it? Perhaps that was it. He could tell Merlyn wasn't interested, and the servant had obviously said something rather terrifying to her, to make her this afraid. Merlyn wasn't one to avoid her problems, but she _had_ been avoiding his manservant for the past few weeks.

The boy hadn't… _threatened_ her with anything, surely. He was pretty sure Marcus didn't have it in him to do so. And if it came down to a fight between the two of them, Arthur's money was actually on Merlyn anyway, clumsy or not.

Arthur gave an involuntary snort as he breached the gates of the citadel. No, the thought of his servant and physician together was rather laughable. He could see what the boy liked about Merlyn, but the boy was completely wrong for his physician. Not enough backbone. No challenge. Merlyn would probably only be interested in someone who gave her a challenge. Someone who could retain her interest.

That strange something burned hotter in his chest at the thought of someone actually _catching_ Merlyn's interest.

His step actually hitched when he realized. He wasn't…he couldn't be _jealous_ of Merlyn's attentions?

Surely not. She was just a commoner, and he had no reason to be interested. Merlyn was just a woman who had spent a lot of time with him recently. It was natural to feel somewhat protective of her. Especially as it was basically her job to spend all her waking hours making sure he stayed alive. This was passing interest, common courtesy even, but nothing more.

As he approached the steps to the throne room, he tried to clear his head. He had many more important things to be thinking about anyway. This plague, for one, and his non-existent leads on the culprit.

He nodded to the doorman for the second time that day.

* * *

Merlyn entered the courtroom from the servant's entrance, a door built so servants could poor more wine for dignified guests unobtrusively. It had the added convenience of being well used and therefore swung open silently, and without much fuss.

Not five minutes ago, Oswald had burst into her and Gaius' chambers out of breath and with panic written into his every feature. When she finally got him calmed down enough to speak, she found his panic was contagious.

"The blacksmith…" he panted, "he heard you. The prince knows it was a woman who healed everyone."

For a brief, blinding moment, she half expected a troupe of guards to come through their chambers with Arthur leading them. Then she relaxed, as logic took over.

"But they don't know who." She reminded Oswald. "And that's not much of a lead to go on."

Gaius moved forward. "But they have a pool of people to pick from." He reminded darkly. Merlyn gave him a blank look. "The victims."

So Merlyn ran, full speed and in a dress, to the courtroom to witness Arthur's report to Uther. Entering through the service passage was a minor detour with great benefit.

"The findings were meager," Arthur declared. He stood before the whole court wearing his long coat that brushed the floor. Merlyn stood on the side of the courtroom that matched Uther's right, and large windows on the opposite wall let light stream into the airy chamber. The beams reflected off of Arthur's hair almost lovingly, like a crown of sunlight. It reminded her of the time he stood here accusing Valiant, and the memory did not bode well. "Almost every witness was asleep throughout the night. One woman said she felt compelled to sleep at the early hours of the morning, but she could have just been exhausted or grief-stricken." Arthur paused, and she felt her stomach drop. "There was another report, which claimed to have heard a woman's voice late into the night, and he too was forced to sleep."

Uther nodded. "So the offender is a sorceress. They are even deadlier than the men who practice sorcery. Women have an affinity for it, you know."

Arthur looked like he really wanted to say something about that. "Father, that report is dubious. The man was incredibly ill at the time, and admitted himself that he might have been hallucinating."

"But you found nothing else?" Uther asked, his temper obviously short. Arthur shook his head in the negative. "Then we will follow what leads we have."

Arthur paused. "But…how, Sire? Half of Camelot is female. That assumes that said sorceress is still in the city, which I find doubtful at this point."

Uther shook his head. "The sorceress must be one of the victims or their family members. Arrest all the women who are involved to the first degree of contact."

Merlyn just barely covered a gasp of horror.

Arthur looked stricken but he was hiding it well. Merlyn could only see it in his eyes. "Father, you can't be serious. That's something like fifty people. I've searched their homes, there was nothing to indicate sorcery in any of them."

Uther sighed, like it should be obvious. "It's a sorceress, Arthur. They can hide things where the eye cannot see."

Arthur looked frustrated now. "Father, by that logic, I may as well arrest every woman in Camelot." Arthur shook his head, as if regretting giving his father such an idea. Merlyn quite wanted to slap him upside the head for his stupidity as well. "It may not even be a woman, Father, the witness said he heard a voice, but he didn't hear what she said or see a face. It could have been a woman talking to her dying husband, for all we know."

Uther shook his head. "It's a sorceress, I'm sure of it."

Merlyn wanted to be in awe of his paranoia. She wanted to pity him for his fear. She wanted to hate him for seeking to injure her. She wanted to run from him and hide. She wanted to march up to him and blow him to smithereens.

Instead, all she felt was a cold kind of fear, knowing Uther's instincts were deadly accurate, despite the illogicality of his conclusions.

"Father I am _not_ sure," Arthur said bravely. She felt proud of him. He could see how irrational Uther was being as well as she, and still chose to stand up to him. She was quite sure he wouldn't have done that, not so long ago. "Until we have proof I see no reason to arrest anyone."

Uther stalked up to Arthur in a manner that reminded Merlyn of a bear. She had the sudden urge to throw herself between the prince and the king, and she had to forcibly hold herself back. "Do you defy me?" The king hissed.

Arthur shook his head, and Merlyn released a breath. It was one thing to defy the king. It was another to disobey him openly. There was no reason for Arthur to get thrown in the dungeons. Not like he could do any good there. "No, my lord." Arthur sounded resigned.

Uther searched his son's eyes for a moment, and then turned back to his throne. "You will arrest all women who were in the infirmary that night. That is my final order. Go."

She could _see_ Arthur clenching his teeth. "Yes, Father." It came out strained.

"Leave me." Uther dismissed casually, waving a hand. Arthur bowed tensely, perhaps a shade shallower than he normally would have, and turned to walk out the door. She could see his fist clenching and unclenching as if trying to release the tension.

Merlyn made to walk to him, attempt to calm him down, alleviate his guilt, when a hand grabbed her upper arm.

She jumped, and turned.

"We need to talk," Morgana hissed.

* * *

They found an alcove below an ill-used stairwell.

It was a passage mostly used by servants. Merlyn used it often, because it offered a quick link between her and Gaius' chambers to Arthur's. Morgana probably used it less frequently. The main stairwell was much more convenient for her to get pretty much anywhere in the castle.

"This disease," Morgana hissed, "Is it really caused by magic?"

Merlyn nodded, unsure of where Morgana was going with this. The king's ward had been tense and tight-lipped on their short journey to this stairwell. "It is. Gaius and I are trying to find a cure."

Morgana shifted, her shoulders tensing further. "I've been having dreams. About a place underground. There's a lot of water…and a _creature_." Morgana shuddered. "It is an unholy thing."

Merlyn let her eyes widen in surprise. "Perhaps that's what's causing the illness? We know the water has been contaminated, somehow. This creature could be the cause."

Morgana nodded. "That's why I thought I'd tell you." She gave Merlyn a tight-lipped smile that had some real feeling behind it. "You listen. Always. No matter how crazy things sound."

Merlyn returned the smile, quirking her lips. "You haven't been wrong yet, Morgana. That doesn't sound crazy to me."

The lady shook her head. "I'd give anything for these dreams to simply go away." The dark circles under her lovely green eyes spoke of a chronic sort of fatigue. "I'd give a lot to simply sleep through the night."

Merlyn put a hand on Morgana's shoulder hesitantly, not sure if her friend really wanted to be touched. Morgana seemed to relax at the contact though, so Merlyn left her hand. "I wish you'd let me talk to Gaius about this. He'd have some ideas for helping you conquer your dreams."

Morgana's features tensed in something resembling anger. "I told you—I've complained to him about my dreams before. He has always turned me away with drugs in hand."

Merlyn smiled at her hopefully. "Maybe, but two voices are much harder to ignore than one. Especially when one of said voices lives with you."

Morgana smiled despite herself, but Merlyn could still see anger frosting her eyes. "Uther's decrees are senseless. What does he expect to do? He can't kill everyone in that tent. Certainly not without proof." Morgana suddenly looked unsure. "He can't. He simply can't."

Merlyn froze, the idea hadn't even crossed her mind. But of course, if Uther was arresting them all because he believed them to be guilty of sorcery, and sorcery was only punishable by death…

Uther might just kill everyone unless he had someone to cast the blame on.

"Morgana," Merlyn said slowly, yet another realization coming to her. "Morgana, Gwen was in that tent."

Green eyes met her blue ones in horror. "Her father was sick!" Morgana breathed.

"I'm going to find Gaius, we must find the source," she declared.

"I'll go and try and make Uther see his madness. He must see it he must." Morgana's fists clenched and Merlyn saw fear beat behind Morgana's eyes.

"Two voices are better than one," She agreed, hitching up her skirts.

"Best start shouting then."

* * *

"Gaius, Gaius we have to check the aquifer!" She yelled running into their chambers.

The old man walked up to her. "Calm down, tell me what's happened."

She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself after her mad sprint through the castle. "Uther has ordered Arthur to arrest every woman who was in the infirmary last night, and all their female relatives."

Gaius put a hand on the nearest table, leaning on it like it was the only thing holding him up. "He's accused them of sorcery?"

She nodded. "He believes one of them to be a sorceress, yes. I imagine he's going to hold a trial and hope his culprit steps forward."

Gaius took a shaky breath, his weathered skin showing an unhealthy pallor. His eyes, however, showed real anger. "Do you not see? _This_ is what I was talking about, Merlyn. Innocent people are in danger now because of your actions."

She shook her head in disbelief. "I was simply trying to help people! I saved twenty lives!"

"And how many are now in danger thanks to your actions?" Gaius snapped. "Thirty? One hundred? All innocent women who now fear for their lives because of _your actions_ , Merlyn! Because you wanted to play God!"

She wanted to point out that Uther was the one who endangered them, not her. That he was the real menace, that he was the reason everyone was always so afraid. In a fair and just world, he would be the one at fault, for he was the one who was threatening these women for existing in the right place at the right time, or having family members who were recently close to death and made a miraculous recovery.

But the world was not fair. It was not just. This was Camelot, and there was only the law. She broke it, and the innocent women now being rounded up like cattle were suffering because of it.

She sagged with guilt. Gaius was right. Kilgharrah was right. She'd done something well-intentioned but impulsive, and now twice as many people _at least_ were suffering because of it.

"I was only trying to help." She whispered. "I had to help. I had to."

She felt more than saw Gaius give in to his affection for her. A weathered hand reached out for her own. "I know, child. I know." He patted her hand once more, and gave it a small, encouraging squeeze. For some reason his kindness brought tears to her eyes.

"Why couldn't I help them?" She nearly begged. "Why do I have magic at all if I can't even help people when they need it?"

Gaius squeezed her hand again. "You must simply wait for the right opportunities, Merlyn. They will come, I promise you that. Now," he was obviously trying to direct the conversation somewhere safer. "What's this about the aquifer?"

Merlyn shook herself, trying to work past her guilt but merely finding more. She had to lie to Gaius. She'd promised Morgana she wouldn't tell anyone of her dreams. "I had a thought. I figure if the water from the wells are contaminated, it must mean the collective aquifer is too. I thought we might investigate."

She was still looking forlornly at her shoes and Gaius' so she was caught completely unawares when Gaius gave her cheek a loving tap. She looked up into his smiling eyes and excited expression.

"Merlyn," he told her, "You're a _genius_."

* * *

Arthur hated this.

Arthur hated this a lot.

Arthur hated this so much, he thought he might break something with the way he couldn't seem to hold back any force from anything he did.

These were innocent women, or at least most of them were. There was one woman, who might possibly be the culprit, but she'd probably done nothing but save lives, and she might not even be one of the women he was sent to arrest anyway.

Arthur had done a number on his reputation with the people in the last few days. First he invades their homes, then he invades some of their homes again, and then he arrests their wives and daughters for no apparent reason other than one _might_ be a sorceress who saved their friends' lives. Yeah, he would not be winning any popular elections for a while, that was for sure.

His father had entered that place again. Where he no longer listened to rational thought. Where anything made sense because magic was involved.

The number of people he'd had to arrest was staggering. Closing in on seventy women. He'd flatly refused to arrest anyone under the age of sixteen. His men had seemed relieved.

It was difficult enough watching a crowd of sobbing women being driven up to the castle, where they'd be kept in one of the empty greeting rooms for want of space in the dungeons. It was a wholly other thing to watch children do the same.

Arthur really hated this.

He kept his features smooth, refusing to be affected by the pleas of the arrested or the angry demands of their families. Children shouted horrible things at him. He pretended not to hear, knowing that if he acknowledged them he'd be expected to hand out some kind of punishment.

Considering the fact that he felt he should be the one punished, he kind of had a problem with that.

It was four hours before every woman was arrested. He followed them up to the citadel, where several noblewomen awaited their lower-class counterparts in the massive greeting-hall turned prison.

His father waited for him on the steps of the castle, eyeing each woman speculatively. Arthur would have been repulsed if he thought any kind of sexual interest was present in his father's gaze. Instead there was only wariness, and an interest that almost bordered on hostility.

He approached the king as the last of the arrested women filed into the castle. "Father this is insanity. We don't even know if what the witness heard was real."

Uther gave him a sharp, hawk-like glance. "It was real. That's the way sorcerers work, Arthur. Playing on your doubts, working in the shadows. That's what they _do_." The king turned away from him and stalked toward his castle. Arthur kept his face blank and followed him.

A hand shot out from the column beside the door.

Somehow Arthur was unsurprised to see it was his wayward physician. "Merlyn," he greeted. "You're typically not supposed to greet me by accosting me."

She made a sort of dismissive motion with her hand. "I'm not accosting you, you prat! I came to warn you. There's a creature. In the aquifer below the city. That's what's causing the illness, we're sure of it."

Arthur looked into her eyes, trying to find any hint of deception. He found none, and found himself wondering why he'd looked at all. "You must tell my father," he said, grabbing her hand to lead her toward the king. She followed submissively for once.

His father was already making his way through the large greeting room. It was a work of vaulted ceilings and marble floors, light filtering in from every angle with blood-red banners on full display. Even with all its space, Arthur found the room growing claustrophobic with this many people—arestees as well as guards—crowding it. The king walked like a panther, inspecting each woman like she was a snake about to bite him. Arthur strode forward, hauling Merlyn behind him.

"Father, the physicians have found the source of the illness." He gestured to Merlyn, pulling her in front of him.

The girl hastily bowed. "Sire."

The king made an impatient gesture. "Speak."

Merlyn straightened and he had to commend her when she looked so poised. "Gaius and I investigated beneath the city, thinking if we inspected the water source we might glean the problem." Merlyn paused. "In the aquifer, we encountered a fearsome creature. It looked as if it were molded in wet clay, from the imagination of a demon. Gaius and I are sure—that is the cause of the plague. Gaius is trying to identify it right now. He thinks he will be able to find a way to destroy it as well."

Uther nodded. "Good work, physician." Arthur saw Merlyn's shoulders sag with relief and shared the sentiment. "We will determine which of these women is the sorceress, and she will destroy her creature. Will that remove the illness?"

Merlyn paled. "Well, yes, my lord, destroying the creature would—"

"Then it's decided."

Arthur watched with growing dread as his father stepped to the center of the room, terrified women all around. Merlyn stepped forward, as if to speak and he grabbed her arm, yanking her back toward him to ensure she did not overstep her bounds. His father would not find her disobedience endearing, no matter how much she'd done for Camelot. She glared at him, but he refused to remove his hand from her wrist. She was going to get herself killed if he didn't.

"One of you," his father declared, "is an enchantress." He swore every person in the room ceased to breathe. "That person will step forward now, or every last one of you will be accused and found guilty of sorcery." A pause. "The punishment for this is death. Speak now, or hold sixty-seven innocent lives on your conscience in addition to those which you have already taken.

Merlyn was shaking beneath his fingertips. Arthur felt rage and fear fill him.

"Father please!" he begged, unable to stand it anymore. "Father do not do this, it is insanity."

"Quiet, Arthur!" The king hissed.

"No, I quite agree with him," a familiar voice declared. Arthur found himself relieved to see Morgana marching through the entry hall, fury blazing in her eyes.

"Morgana," the king greeted, sounding tired. "You have already expressed your opinion on this matter."

The ward was not deterred. "Then maybe I should speak louder, since it is clear you didn't listen the first time."

The king sighed, and turned away from her. "There is a difference between listening and acting, Morgana."

Arthur heard several women take deep, shuddering breaths around the room, and he chanced a glance at them. There were varying reactions. Many women just shook their heads in denial, as if completely unable to understand what just occurred. Some were sending suspicious looks at their neighbors. Still others sobbed into each other's shoulders. Guinevere, Morgana's servant, knelt on the floor like a marionette with its strings cut, staring blankly ahead as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. There were a few begging with the guards, but most seemed to realize their pleas would get them nowhere.

None of them looked guilty though.

"Uther you cannot sentence these women to death. You have no evidence linking them to the crime! You may as well arrest _me_!"

"She's right, Father." Arthur confirmed, before the king could decide that was a good plan for dealing with a wayward Morgana. "The testimony that led us to arresting these women was faulty at best, and no one heard any enchantments being cast. The person who healed those people could be halfway to Mercia for all we know. Please, Father, look around! None of these women are guilty of the crime you've accused them of."

The king did so and found the same thing Arthur had. Terror. Grief. Shock. But notably absent was guilt.

"You're right, Arthur." The king said softly. It did not make him feel any better. Merlyn shook harder, and Arthur had the irrational urge to shove her behind him, get her as far away from his father as possible. "I don't know why I expected a sorceress to feel sympathy for her neighbors, for innocent women." The king's voice hardened like steel. "However, all sorceresses have some kind of…perverted affection for their spawn."

"Father, _no_ —"

"You are to arrest any children in these women's households, and bring them here. They will die alongside their mothers. Go, Arthur." The king turned to the crowd. "Unless the sorceress wishes to step forward and claim her actions?"

There was silence in the room and Arthur watched as the fear on the women's faces turned to rage, and then to hatred. Arthur would not have been able to stand against the onslaught.

"Uther you can't!" Morgana screamed, obviously horrified. "You can't do this! You're talking about innocent children!"

"You will _not_ tell me what I can and cannot do, Morgana." Arthur's almost-sister stepped back in actual shock, and perhaps a little fear. The king _never_ yelled at her. "I will drown a hundred children if it is necessary. I will not stand for magic in this kingdom, and I will _not_ allow Camelot to fall!"

Arthur was not arresting children. He wasn't.

"What about justice, Father?" He asked quietly, appealing to the king's love of law. "What about truth and honor? I'd rather die tomorrow than know I've condemned uncountable innocent children to their deaths."

His father's gaze finally rested on Arthur, and the ice and malice in them made Arthur's spine stiffen in fear.

"And that is why you are not ready to be King, Arthur."

Arthur stood his ground. "I am _not_ arresting children."

His father stalked toward him and now Arthur _did_ step in front of Merlyn protectively, letting go of her wrist and maneuvering her behind his back. The king met him where he stood, and Arthur realized for the first time that he'd surpassed his father in height.

"You dare defy _me_?" The whisper came like the song of a blade.

Arthur stared straight ahead, not quite able to meet his father's gaze. "I swore an oath to protect Camelot above all other loyalties."

His father's eyes narrowed and the ferocity in his gaze unnerved Arthur. There was a moment where he thought his father might actually kill him, or banish him or disown him. And then—

"I know who the sorceress was."

It was a small voice. Strong. Soft but like Damascus steel, with its many layers and unfathomable edges.

He turned to his personal physician in utter shock.

She had tears rolling down her face, her skin was pale and drawn in a way that was almost sickly. Exhaustion and stress lined her every feature.

But her _eyes_. They seemed too large for her skull, almost unearthly, framed by her cheekbones and elegant brow. The normally light color had turned dark blue with rage, two fiercely burning gems, the color of the ocean when the sea turned mysterious and deep, set into the face of an inhuman creature. She was like a wrathful goddess, ready to exact revenge and punishment on all those before her.

It had not been fear she was shaking from earlier, Arthur realized. It was outrage.

Her gaze was trained on the king. Arthur found himself impressed his father could stand in the face of it.

"Merlyn!" Morgana expressed in shock. Perhaps even fear. Arthur would be able to tell better if he could bring himself to tear his eyes from his physician.

"Who is it girl," his father demanded. "Tell me!"

Merlyn's hateful gaze intensified, and it was all Arthur could do to not simply _stare_.

"Me." She whispered, her voice harsh, eyes gleaming with something approaching revulsion. "I'm the sorceress."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so we all saw that one coming, right? This isn't actually a cliffie. You knew it was happening.
> 
> This chapter got away from me a little. Originally I was going to cap it off at seven thousand words, but this seemed like a much better stopping point. And we've still got a third of the episode to get through, plus my own little...additions. Even though it's long, I feel like the action is choppy. I'm sure this is partly due to my using the show as a template, but it's extremely irritating to me while writing the darn thing, so I want to know how it reads to you, the audience.
> 
> I also want to say something here: There is what's known as 'benevolent sexism' in Arthur's thoughts when he's thinking about Merlyn and protecting her. It occurs throughout the story, and you may have picked up on it in previous chapters. That is intentional, and supposed to be period-appropriate. Uther's belief that women 'have an affinity for sorcery' is supposed to be a metaphor for the sexism present in the era and in the show. Honestly, all the major villains were powerful sorceresses. The only villainous male was Mordred and it was quite difficult to hate him in the end, wasn't it? I mean he was stupid and his girlfriend was stupid, but he was motivated by love. So, Uther's comment is simultaneously a critique of the show, a metaphor for the period's ideology concerning gender roles and abilities of both women and men, and a product of Uther's history with sorceresses (*cough*Nimueh*cough*). None of this reflects my actual views on the subject, and are simply part of the story. I'm seriously considering adding bits from The Malleous Maleficarum in Uther's next speech which, if you've ever read it, is ridiculous. It wasn't actually published until the 1400s but most of the medical knowledge I'm using wasn't either. Plus it's related to the witch hunts, so it's appropriate.
> 
> Of course, the show's whole treatment of gender relations for the era are horribly flawed anyway, but whatever. You can't win them all, and frankly it's depressing to think about. I certainly wouldn't watch five seasons of women being treated like dirt, would you? I'm by no means an expert but from what I understand spousal abuse was considered perfectly appropriate, most women couldn't read or write, and they certainly wouldn't have much say in the ruling of the kingdom, excepting what they could convince their husbands and brothers of. The show would be very different. I'd probably be cheering for Morgana at that point, especially if her whole spiral into evil was a result of how she was treated. Actually that could be interesting. Maybe I should write a fic...?
> 
> Well, what do you think? Were the reactions on? Was Uther tyrannical enough? Did I go too far on the crazy side? I promise you'll figure out what's going on with Oswald next chapter. There's a reason he's acting the way he is. Any guesses?
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. The Noble Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Heroes finally defeat the sludge monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE 7/14/17: I am currently working on the next chapter and I am tentatively looking for a beta. Ideally, it would be someone who A) is willing to kick my ass when I don't update, B) will let me bounce ideas off of him or her, and correct my grammar, characterization, syntax, style and structure, and C) has some editing experience, preferably. If anyone is interested, please let me know!

Merlyn had experienced rage a number of times before. Once when she saw a fellow village girl in Ealdor dragged into the streets by some traveler who intended to rape her. That very same night she experienced rage again when Will tried to stop it from happening and was beaten half to death by the man's friends for his efforts. She was plenty angry when her mother told her daily to smother her magic, hold it within her where it could not harm her by existing. She felt fury when Uther killed a man for having magic, when he ignored his son and all of Arthur's wonderful qualities and caused the prince to doubt in himself.

All those past angers paled to the current moment—never before had her rage been a creature such as this.

Her vision was red around the edges, fraying her perception. Her heart beat erratically in her chest, thumping out the tempo of a wrathful song she felt in her blood. Her hands shook in outrage, in sheer disbelief, in the all-consuming fury that was locking her in place, ironically preventing her from lunging at the source of her anger. Her breath did not come, but seized her chest with spasms, a physical reaction to the deepest hate she'd ever felt.

Uther Pendragon would _pay_.

The lingering, cloying nausea from her encounter with the creature was burned away. There was nothing in her but the pulsing, throbbing beat of her raging heart, the keening of the sentenced women, the fear, the hatred, the _hatred_ —

She felt shame, too. If she hadn't acted like such a fool, if she'd heeded the advice of her elders, they never would have been in this mess. Uther wouldn't be hurting all of these women, he wouldn't be threatening to burn _babies_ —

Her magic bounced angrily against the confines of her skin. She could feel the magic in the earth thrumming and howling against the injustice of the Mad King and his horrible schemes. She could feel the magic in the air around her connecting with her own, begging to simply use her as a conduit and kill the evil man who was such a blight to life and love and happiness and all the goodness in the world. Everything evil that she'd ever encountered, the magic whispered, it was a result of this man and his hate and prejudice and grief. She deserved better, the magic told her. The _world_ deserved better…

She already _told_ them anyway. Why not _show_ them as well?

Arthur was speaking, but she couldn't hear him over the buzzing in her ears and the debate between a lifetime of instincts to hold and never use magic in public and the whisperings of the world begging her to put goodness and purity out of its misery by just destroying this man, by taking his life here and now, for all to see.

"Father she's suffering from grief, a friend of hers is one of the accused and she's trying to sacrifice herself in their place."

Arthur's voice floated her as if it was from far away, and she noted with some surprise that he was standing between her and the king, his hand clutching hers again. She hadn't realized he'd moved. All her focus was on the king, the genocidal maniac, the _betrayer_ —

"She admitted it herself. Why else would she declare herself a sorceress?"

"You just threatened children, and Merlyn is very brave!" Morgana interjected, but Merlyn could not bring herself to turn towards her. Her eyes were latched to a man she was desperately trying to decide if she was going to kill. "Of course she would sacrifice herself, she's being noble and _lying!_ "

Merlyn had to step in at that. Morgana and Arthur obviously knew she wasn't actually a threat to Camelot, but why wouldn't they let her do this? It would save everyone; didn't they see?

She took a step forward, her eyes never leaving the icy-green of Uther Pendragon's. Her magic whispered his crimes in her ear, insistent and pleading for the death of this vile man. She moved around Arthur before he realized what she was doing and yanked her hand from his grasp.

"I'm a sorceress," She declared, for once telling the truth and reveling in it. "And I can prove—"

A large hand clapped over her mouth and a strong arm banded across her midsection, pinning her arms to her sides and pressing her back to her attacker's chest.

Arthur's voice reverberated behind her. "I told you father, Merlyn is sick with grief, nothing more." She struggled, trying to kick him and pry him loose, but Arthur wouldn't budge. Merlyn tried to bite his hand but it was covered in a thick leather glove and all she got was a pinch in return.

She wanted to scream, and she was dimly aware that tears of frustration rolled unreservedly down her face, following the trails of her tears of anger that existed before. Her magic thrummed around her, inside her, begging to be released—

She couldn't, Merlyn realized. She was too angry, too out of control. If she released her magic now, any of it, she might wipe out everyone in this room. Hell, she might wipe out the city. Her control was non-existent, hate was making her frayed. Arthur was too close, pressed against her back and arms wrapped firmly around her, preventing her from struggling, his musky scent of leather and wine filled her nostrils and made her head feel hazy.

Her magic flared again in fury, which stoked the fires of Merlyn's rage and she struggled against Arthur with renewed vigor. It was useless though—without magic to augment her strength, he had a frighteningly easy time holding her.

"How do you know she hasn't just been lying in wait, biding her time?"

She could hear the tension in Arthur's voice, thrumming too close to her ear. "She's with me every day, Father, and saved my life at least twice. She's had many opportunities to injure me. Merlyn is kindhearted, and hates to see pain inflicted on others. She's also stupid, and so she thinks sacrificing herself is a good response to your orders."

Merlyn may have imagined it, but she was pretty sure Arthur's grip on her tightened a little at that last bit.

Uther's eyes drilled into hers, and she met his madness with her fury, even as she struggled against Arthur's hold.

"…I suppose you're right. Take her away, and remind her not to waste my time again."

Shock flooded her system and she froze, unable to believe that the one time she told the whole and unreserved truth about her magic, she wasn't taken seriously.

 _Really?_ What kind of cosmic joke was this?

Arthur took advantage of her shock and secured her to his chest more firmly. His movement brought her back to the present and she thrashed in his grip.

 _I have to do this_ , she screamed into his hand, _I have to_.

Arthur's hold didn't break. She was too small, too thin, and it was all too easy for him to subdue her. The magic thrummed in her ears screaming alongside her and Merlyn knew she could not break free without hurting the innocent and murdering all the people Uther wished to kill and more.

"Try and calm her down before returning Arthur. Woman's sensibilities, you know. Look at her, she's half-mad from grief."

Merlyn struggled harder at that, her voice fading into an inarticulate scream muffled by thick leather, and she wished to claw his eyes out with her fingernails, show him exactly how _delicate_ her sensibilities were. Arthur pinched her arm in retaliation, and she could practically feel him begging her to _please shut up while he rescued her_.

"I think that will be for the best, Father." He started backing towards the doors, not allowing Merlyn's feet to touch the ground. Her legs churned against the air, and he was somehow holding her in a way that prevented her from landing a kick on him.

Merlyn was dragged further and further from the object of her rage, her hate, as the world's magic begged her to do something about the Mad King, to put him down like a rabid dog—

Her vision flooded with red as she forced herself not to let a drop of her magic spill from her shaky control. She didn't know what might happen, she didn't know if she would succeed, or if she might accidentally hit someone else. Arthur was too close; he could easily end up injured—

A door slammed shut in front of her, and just like that her vision cleared, Uther no longer crowding her line of sight.

"Merlyn," he hissed in her ear, and she could feel real anger in the vibration of his voice. "You _will_ calm down _right now_. Do you hear me?"

She froze again. It was easier to think now—the voices of magic were fading, now that she was away from that epicenter of violence and pain Arthur called Father. Struggling was pointless, now, and even if she rushed back into the entryway, Uther wouldn't take her seriously.

Her muscles relaxed a little in defeat, but the rage kept burning in her heart.

"I'm going to take my hand off of your mouth, and then we are going to have a _very_ long discussion about why you are _completely stupid_."

She rolled her eyes but made no other acknowledgment of his words. Slowly he lifted his hand, and began walking to one of the nearby guest chambers, still pinning her to his chest as if she were no burden at all, not even letting her walk on her own.

When she pointed this out all she received was a stern. "Silence."

Somehow, Arthur's anger abated her own, or at least refocused her. Arthur was being a bossy prat. Ergo, she must fulfill her divinely-ordained duty of deflating his ego.

As soon as they were inside the chambers, Arthur set her down. She quickly rushed away from him and turned around, getting out of arms' reach. He kicked the door shut with his heel and stalked toward her, his face drawn in anger. Her own temper flared up in response and though she refused to back away, she was ready to move at a moments' notice. He would not be manhandling her like that again.

"What. Were. You. Thinking?" He ground out, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

She frowned, irritation rising above the burn of rage. "I was thinking that your father was about to commit mass murder, and a confession could stop it."

He snarled angrily, "You're an idiot!" He stepped inside her space like he wanted to shake her, and she glared up at him, refusing to be intimidated by his height or strength.

"You know it's wrong, Arthur!" She snapped, stepping up to meet him. "You know it's wrong and _someone_ had to stop him! _Someone_ had to—"

"Do you think it would have stopped there?" He questioned viciously. "Sure, he wouldn't have killed those women immediately, but when your death solved nothing? When people continued to get sick? He'd just burn people, one-by-one, until there was no one left or the illness stopped. How many would die then? Hundreds? You'd only be the first, and you wouldn't be around to help me stop it _because you'd be dead_."

Her jaw snapped shut. He…wasn't wrong. Actually, he was very much correct. The disease was magical in nature, so it would probably take magic to destroy it. Whatever that creature was, it was unlikely to be felled by normal means.

"I couldn't just stand by and do nothing," she defended, trying not to sound petulant as she leaned away from him a little, acknowledging the validity of his argument.

Some of his anger drained away, and Merlyn realized for the first time that his behavior perhaps did not stem from his natural prattishness, but from genuine concern—perhaps even fondness or affection. "You're more use to us alive than dead, Merlyn." Then he was close again, almost too close, and his eyes were the color of the sky when clouds don't dare to cross. "You told me I was not allowed to die, Merlyn. I didn't think I'd have to tell you the same goes for you."

That thing was back, that intangible chord that hummed between them, stretching into infinity and deep within their souls. She felt it in her every breath, every heartbeat, and her magic _sung_ with it in sharp contrast to the chorus of rage it was screaming mere minutes ago. It was an understanding between them, a sharing. A strange knowledge that went beyond words or emotion or magic of what one another was, what they were to each other. A comfort was in that knowledge, and Merlyn knew without doubt that there was a part of Arthur that knew her completely, which understood everything and nothing about her.

Something tightened inside her, calmed her rage just a little, so she could focus on the here and now. She could see the tensing of Arthur's muscles, the answering fire and concern in his gaze.

"Merlyn," he breathed, his voice soft. It reminded her of that night before the hearth, where she kneaded the muscles in his arm so he would hand her his sword, something glowing between them as brightly as fire and just as hard to grasp. "Merlyn, you—"

The door behind Arthur burst open and they hastily broke apart. She heard rustling silk, somehow sounding distinctly irritated.

Arthur was unceremoniously shoved aside, and Lady Morgana took his place, her face scrutinizing Merlyn's.

Her expression didn't change when she spoke. "That was incredibly stupid," Morgana informed her, and for some reason it made Merlyn feel small, like a child. Then the older woman wrapped her in a hug, squeezing her shoulders tightly. "And _incredibly_ brave." Merlyn's eyes locked on Arthur's over Morgana's shoulder. He seemed a little flustered, but he looked at Morgana with poorly veiled fondness.

"Arthur has already berated me," she informed Morgana, "I'm sorry if I scared you."

Arthur had the audacity to roll his eyes, and Morgana scoffed, releasing her. "Of course you scared us. You were acting as a sacrificial lamb." Morgana's eyes turned stern. "Don't do it again."

Merlyn sighed, but said nothing. Morgana was being a good friend, and Arthur…well Arthur was Arthur.

But it was time to refocus. "What did Uther say after we left?"

Morgana sighed, obviously upset, her face twisting in disgust. "He said Arthur would rally the guard and start collecting the children as soon as he was able."

Merlyn felt the rage rise again, flickering in an echo of what it was not ten minutes ago. "When do they burn?"

Arthur scratched his jaw—he didn't shave this morning, Merlyn noticed—and narrowed his eyes. "It will take some time to collect enough wood. I'd say tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, more likely tomorrow evening."

"They'll burn through the night," Morgana whispered in quiet horror.

Merlyn shifted, feeling her focus slide into place. "If we stop the illness, will Uther let them go?"

Arthur and Morgana shared a look.

The ward spoke. "If we did it overnight, while everyone was under watch. That way we would be able to prove that none of the prisoners are the culprits."

A shadow crossed Arthur's face. "That means I actually have to arrest children, doesn't it?"

Merlyn regarded him with sympathy. "I'm sorry." And she was. He hated causing his people pain. And he'd done it quite a few times in the last few days.

Morgana turned to her. "You're sure you'll be able to find a cure by tomorrow morning?"

Merlyn nodded. "I believe so." Gaius would probably have an answer for what the creature was by the time she returned to him, and if they were incredibly lucky, a method to destroy it.

The king's ward turned to Arthur. "Do it quickly. Then you can help us with whatever the cure is."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Morgana, _you_ don't give _me_ orders." But he made to exit the room anyway.

"Prat," Morgana muttered after him. Then she smiled at Merlyn. "I can't thank you enough for giving me that word."

Merlyn smirked despite the horror they were facing. Everyone was allowed their coping mechanisms, after all. "You're most welcome, my Lady."

* * *

"Gaius!" Merlyn called as she raced into their shared chambers. "Gaius tell me you've found something. Uther's going to start murdering children next."

The man in question raised his head from his books. "I told you this would only end in tears, Merlyn."

She nearly growled. "I know. I wasn't counting on Uther to be actually insane. And willing to kill babies for the crime of possible association."

Gaius' brow furrowed. "He's rounding up children again?" Horror and unfathomable weariness laced his voice.

Merlyn huffed, trying to get a grip on herself. None of this was Gaius' fault. "I'm afraid so." A pause. "Wait, again?"

Gaius grimaced, even as he looked through the glossy pages of his book. "At the beginning of the Purge Uther…drowned a generation of children, in the courtyard there. It was early in the Purge, there were few people in Camelot without associations to magic. The children often played with magicians, and some of them had parents who were convicted sorcerers. The oldest was twelve. The youngest…three days old." He fiddled with a beaker. "He had a few similar incidents after, but none so…widespread."

Merlyn felt something cold sink in her stomach. It was one thing to hear of Uther's plans…but to know he actually went through with it once…

"Why is he still King?" she hissed, her shock morphing into rage, cold turning to molten lava almost too fast to control. "If he's such a monster, why haven't the people risen up, taken him down—"

"Merlyn, the people are not strong enough to overthrow Uther. Not with his military support. All of his knights have sworn loyalty and service to Uther, and are well treated in return. Turning on him would not only be monumentally stupid, but it would besmirch their honor."

"Bullshit," she snapped, "Rounding up babies to die isn't honorable."

Gaius leveled a sharp gaze at her, heavy with meaning. "No. But betraying your liege lord, the man you've sworn loyalty to, is also dishonorable. In their eyes, more so than even the greatest of sins." He flipped another page in his books. "That is why Arthur is so important, Merlyn. He's Camelot's only hope for just leadership."

Merlyn suddenly remembered the hidden kindnesses he sometimes displayed, and traitorously thought the people had chosen a pretty excellent savior.

But there was no way she'd ever voice such a thing out loud.

"Speaking of, Arthur's arresting the children now. He says it will take a while to get enough wood, so he thinks we have until tomorrow afternoon. Tomorrow evening, at the most."

Gaius hummed. "It's nearing dinnertime. We best hurry. It will take a while for Arthur to arrest everyone. We should have an answer by then."

Merlyn nodded. "So did you find anything in your books?"

The old man nodded. "It is an Afanc, I believe. The description in the book matches what we saw in the aquifer. A beast made with powerful magic from an extremely powerful sorcerer. It is not truly alive—it is just animated clay, but the imitation makes the creature secrete poison. That's what's been causing the plague."

Merlyn nodded, hope blooming. "So how do we kill it?"

Gaius hesitated.

Merlyn raised an eyebrow.

"Gaius…?"

The old man sighed. "The book does not explicitly say."

Merlyn heard the unspoken words behind that. "But…?"

"The book describes how the creature was made—by magically fusing the elements water and earth, along with some more complicated spells, but that's the base of it _. In theory_ , one could unmake the creature by using its elemental opposites—air and fire. Magic would probably have to be involved but it would, conceivably, work." Gaius shut the book with a little more force than necessary. "Honestly, who describes a monster in such detail but fails to mention the means of expelling it?" (1)

Merlyn glanced at the rest of the books on Gaius' dusty shelves apprehensively. Would it be worth it to search through them all, attempting to find something more concrete to attack with? Or should she risk it and attempt to attack based on a mere theory? "You say this will work?"

Gaius rubbed his forehead tiredly, and Merlyn was reminded that Gaius, a fair sixty years older than she, had not slept more than a few hours since the start of the epidemic. "I have no means of testing it, but…in theory, yes."

Only two options. To trust Gaius' experience and wisdom, or not.

"Keep searching for an answer. I have to wait for this evening to take it out."

Gaius nodded solemnly. "Wait until the dark of night before acting, child."

Merlyn nodded, a small bit of warmth flooding her despite the conditions of the day. She rushed back to her room, and immediately found what she was looking for, despite the mess.

She'd worn these cumbersome dresses for the last few days now. It was high time she changed into something more appropriate.

* * *

Arthur _loathed_ this.

The sun was streaking the sky in bold strokes of color, and the wind nipped at Arthur's clothes and hair. Even in his thick leathers and tunics, the chill seeped into him. Torches lit the swollen streets of Camelot, the light creating monstrous shadows as soldiers hauled families apart, as children were torn from their parent's sides—or just the fathers, really, as most of their mothers had already been arrested. The faces of the crowd were mutinous, dark with hatred and righteous fury, and all of it was directed at Arthur himself.

He couldn't blame them. Not at all.

 _I'm sorry_ , he wanted to say, _No harm will come to them, I promise. I give you my word._

But of course he couldn't—to do so would be to disobey the king, and even more tragically, would endanger the plan they'd concocted earlier.

It wasn't much of a plan though, if Merlyn and Gaius didn't come through. And it would mean Arthur was actually doing what these people thought he was and rounding up children to die.

There was a commotion to his left, a father gripped his baby frantically, keeping the child away from the prying hands of the soldier.

"No! You're not taking him away from me too! I'll not give him to the King!"

The words were strong but tears streamed down the poor man's cheeks and wet his beard. The baby wailed in his arms. The soldier trying to collect the child half turned to Arthur and the prince could see the hesitation in his frame and eyes. This man did not want to do this any more than Arthur did, and that was, to some degree, a relief.

But Arthur could not be compromised here. He needed to carve his exterior from stone to keep the rule of law intact. King Uther gave the order. Everyone else followed it. This was just, even if the orders were not. He knew this to be true, as much as he knew this child would be safe on the 'morrow.

There was a breath of silence as it seemed the entire street awaited his verdict.

He gave a small nod, and let none of his pain at the order show. A crack in the façade would bring a flood and he could not afford that.

The man's screams and denials grew louder and finally another soldier came to subdue him. Arthur stepped closer to the scene, wanting to make sure his subordinates didn't get too carried away. This man's reaction was completely understandable—more than that, it was how any father _should_ react. Arthur had seen it several times today.

Finally, the baby was pulled from the man's grip, and Arthur was glad to see the soldier was gentle with the child. He backed away, toward the lineup where a caretaker was keeping track of the youngest. Comforting them was a useless endeavor—their terror was more potent and justified than anything they could offer.

"I hate you!" the poor, broken man screamed through his sobs. "I hate you! Take me too! Don't just leave me without my family!"

Then he spat in Arthur's face.

Arthur let out a disgusted noise he couldn't quite control. The surrounding soldiers jumped the man and Arthur allowed some of his annoyance to reflect in his demeanor. The peasant looked almost gleeful, his eyes alight with some kind of mad joy and his face a demon's in the flickering torchlight.

He wanted to die, Arthur realized. And he did the one thing available which would allow him to join his family.

"Release him." Arthur ordered. The soldiers looked surprised but complied. The man himself though, looked floored, the insane gleam fading from his grey eyes into a mask of confusion, and disappointment.

"Kneel." Arthur commanded, allowing all of his authority to color his voice. The man obeyed immediately, and his knees hit the packed dirt of Camelot's streets.

Without warning, Arthur backhanded him. There was a gasp from the crowd, and the man himself grunted and spat a tooth from his mouth with a gob of blood. Arthur grabbed his shoulder and leaned forward to whisper in the man's ear.

"They'll live," Arthur told him, because it was the truth and this man deserved to know. "I promise. Tell no one."

Arthur leaned back, looking no one in the eye. He heard breathless sobs below him and behind him as he turned.

Silence hung over the streets. The man was picked up by some of the other civilians and hauled away. Arthur kept his façade, his perfectly composed exterior, as smooth as if it were carved from the same stone as Camelot's walls. Only the screams of the children moved the dust, and the harsh stares of his people followed him as he strode down the narrow street. Even his guard watched him, surprise and a fair bit of uncertainty apparent in their faces.

"Sire?" Sir Leon asked. His longtime friend looked calm but rather confused, his brow furrowed and his dark eyes tense. Arthur figured his behavior probably appeared rather erratic to him. Sir Leon was his Head Knight—or would be, if Arthur hadn't taken over the position two years ago as part of his training. They knew each other well, and Leon knew it was extremely unlike him to attack a defenseless man, even under these circumstances.

"Carry on." Arthur ordered. The guards moved and Arthur watched as his people renewed their struggles, realized their moment of peace was over, and began to scream their pain to him.

He could not tell them he was listening. He could not do anything but watch.

* * *

Merlyn's feet pounded against the stone hallway, but the sound was muffled by the soft leather of her boots. As she ran she checked around corners, and kept to the shadows. She could not be seen, and it would be best if she weren't heard at all.

The next corridor was empty, and had a statue of an ancient knight. Merlyn raced down the hall, sticking close to the cold wall. But as she passed the statue a vice wrapped around her waist and a hand slapped across her mouth.

The witch reigned her magic in, even as she instinctively struggled against the hold. It wasn't nearly as impregnable as Arthur's was. If she could just—

"It's me!" Morgana hissed. Merlyn stopped struggling immediately. Seeing her calm down, Morgana hesitantly released the physician.

Merlyn took a step away. Honestly, what _was_ with Morgana and Arthur and their constant need to pin her like that?

The witch turned to the king's ward, and even in the shadows of the hallway and this alcove where no light reached, Merlyn could see the stress in the noblewoman's features.

"My Lady?" Merlyn asked, because this was a little strange, even by her standards.

Morgana straightened, her eyes on Merlyn's. "I had a dream. The creature killed you, and Arthur as well. I need to go to help you, or you'll both die."

Merlyn scrutinized Morgana's features. The stubborn set to her brow. The lack of fear. The way she stood without moving, and the confident way she spoke about her nightmares.

"You're lying," Merlyn whispered, honestly a little taken aback by her own bluntness. Morgana took on an offended mien.

"I beg your pardon?" She seemed to grow larger, as if her indignation made her more imposing physically as well as verbally. "I'll have you know—"

"My Lady, your volume," Merlyn reminded her anxiously. "I'm sorry, it's just—you would have told me earlier if you saw our deaths. And it's just after nightfall, there's no way you were asleep long enough to have a dream."

Morgana deflated a little, but Merlyn could tell she was still a little riled. It was probably stress, combined with a lack of sleep.

"I didn't _lie_ ," Morgana insisted, a little snobbishly. "I just…embellished, a little. I still need to come, at any rate."

Merlyn raised an eyebrow. "Why?" She asked, honestly curious. "I know how to kill it. This will work much better with one person than with many."

She actually wasn't entirely sure about that. Merlyn tried not to think about the dark, slimy feeling of the Afanc's magic. It was similar to touching the bodies of its victims, but worse, so much worse. Getting close enough to kill it was going to be hard.

But Morgana couldn't come. She shouldn't. Frankly, Merlyn had no idea if that was a reaction unique to herself, due to whatever power inhabited her soul, or if it was something that would cripple all magic-users. If it was the former, she might actually need someone else to go with her. If it was the latter, her reaction might give her away to Morgana.

"I was thinking," the noblewoman started, her voice gaining a strange brand of excitement and confidence that immediately made Merlyn wary. "The creature in the aquifer is made by magic." There was a pause in which Merlyn was obviously supposed to agree. "So it stands to reason that it will require magic to take it out."

The physician groaned internally. This was just getting more and more complicated. "Gaius found a method he thinks will work. No magic required, and I can do it alone. I _should_ do it alone."

But Morgana just seemed to grow more determined. "But is it a surefire method?" She asked. The look on Merlyn's face must have given her away. "Then I should go. Just in case." Merlyn hesitated, trying frantically to think of a way to talk Morgana out of this. The older girl seized her hands. "I might be able to use my…my magic if things get a little out of control and really help."

Merlyn took in her earnest expression, the sense of excitement and purpose around her, and she felt a strange sort of pride. How far had Morgana come from even three weeks ago, when she was shivering in fear before her windowsill? She had pride now, and purpose. A sense of meaning. Merlyn wondered at how easy it was to stabilize a person, and at how delicate that sanity was. The almost manic expression on Morgana's noble features was familiar, and even though she knew it would make the situation infinitely more complicated, even though she knew she was endangering her greatest secret, a large part of Merlyn wanted to give in to Morgana's pleas for the sake of that fragile comfort.

She squeezed Morgana's hands. "I know you want to help, my Lady, but you have never studied or used your magic intentionally before. Trying to force it now could have disastrous consequences."

Morgana looked down at the stone floor, and her demeanor changed entirely. Gone was the confident young woman, and in her place was shame and uncertainty. Merlyn tried not to rush her. The creature had to be dealt with. Soon. But Morgana was a friend, and Merlyn would do everything possible to help her.

"When you said you knew who the sorceress was. Back with Uther?" Her voice hitched in hatred on the king's name. "I thought…well for a second I thought you were talking about me."

"My Lady, I would _never_ —"

"I know." Morgana's smile was a bit wan. "I know. But for a second…and then you took the blame _yourself_." The king's ward shook her head in disbelief. "I've never been more ashamed in my life. So even if I can't use my magic to help, let me go anyway. You'll need backup of some kind." A pause. "And call me Morgana. I thought you knew better, Merlyn."

Merlyn smiled a bit but even she could tell it was a strained thing.

Morgana must have seen her hesitance. "Please Merlyn. If nothing else, let me do it for Gwen. She's my friend, and I have to help her."

Maybe it was the exhaustion of the last few sleepless days. Maybe it was the emotional cost of it all, or the familiar call to friendship, and the loyalty that term recalled. But either way, when Merlyn looked into Morgana's fierce expression a second time…she couldn't find it within her to say no. Not with a confession like that on the table. Not with the plea still heavy in her eyes. Even though it would be _so much easier_ if she said no…she just couldn't.

So she nodded. "I'm going down there now."

Morgana's smile became genuine. "Lead the way."

* * *

"Okay, this way to the tunnel." Merlyn whispered, pointing out a route that would allow the both of them to move in the shadows. She and Morgana were crouched behind a cart of timber. There were dozens of them in the courtyard, presumably the beginnings of Uther's pyres.

They watched the guard rotations for a minute. There was increased surveillance tonight, probably to prevent anyone from escaping the entry hall or from breaking into it. Getting across the courtyard without being seen would be problematic. The entire city was supposed to be under curfew, and frankly, it would be best if Merlyn wasn't seen anywhere near the creature. She was the one who discovered it, and five minutes after revealing that information, she claimed to be the sorceress who summoned it. Being the one who destroyed it as well would be too coincidental for most, and certainly wouldn't escape Uther's paranoid mind.

Morgana had far less risk of facing a pyre, but considering the woman had secret magical powers to see the future, it would probably be best if she wasn't associated with the subject much. Neither of them wanted people to start drawing conclusions.

Merlyn led. She was shorter, and was wearing darker clothes, so she was less likely to be seen. Morgana, unfortunately, didn't have much experience in the way of moving undetected through the castle. As such, she hadn't thought to dress for stealth and so she had to move slowly to avoid rustling the silk of her dress and giving away their positions.

 _The fur lining of her cloak probably kept her quite warm though_ , Merlyn thought a little prissily. She couldn't help it—she'd left her cloak in her room to avoid being seen—its color was too noticeable. Her leather jacket was warm, but the beginnings of winter were setting in and Merlyn was largely unprotected from the nighttime mist and bitter cold. Drops of water welled on her fingertips as she brushed the wooden carts and the increased effect of the cold made her feel numb.

Slowly, ever so slowly, they made their way across the courtyard. Every thirty seconds or so, there was an opening long enough for one of them to move to their next location. They kept their backs to the high walls, and crept in shadows. They avoided torches, and the wooden doors that allowed deliveries to be made directly to the castle kitchens or stores. The only way either of them could be seen, if she did her job correctly, was from above. Merlyn was counting on the shadows and their dark hair to hide them.

Finally, after almost half an hour of creeping across the courtyard, they arrived at the gate to the underground aquifer. It was large and set into the stone walls of the castle, taller than most men and wide enough for three to storm in abreast. That was probably a design intended for military purposes.

Merlyn put her hand on the metal door handle of the gate, and took a deep breath. She'd need to do this carefully. If the door made too much noise, it would alert everyone in the courtyard to their presence. She just needed to slide it smoothly open and—

It was locked.

She tried it again.

It was still locked.

But that couldn't be right, could it? It was open this afternoon, she and Gaius didn't use a key then, why would it be locked now? Maybe if she was careful she could use her magic to unlock it? She'd have to whisper the spell, and hide her eyes in her shirt but—

Something cold and metallic pressed into her hand.

Merlyn looked up at Morgana, who shrugged, looking a little sheepish and a bit haughty.

The physician wasted no more time and opened the gate, careful to make sure it didn't drag on the stone. It was heavy, and Morgana had to help her move it aside. They opened it only wide enough to get through, not wanting to risk it any further. They were already pushing their luck as it was.

As soon as they were both inside, they pulled the gate shut. Merlyn pocketed the key and left the gate open. In the event they needed to make a quick escape, she didn't want to worry about fumbling with the key.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" a voice breathed in Merlyn's ear. She gasped and spun, magic already gathering on her fingertips.

Even in the shadows of the night, she could tell it was Arthur who stood before her, in all his smirking, stupid glory.

Okay so she couldn't see it in the pitch-black darkness, but she recognized that voice and _Goddammit_ she could _feel_ his smug smirk.

"Arthur!" Morgana hissed, "What are you _doing_ here?"

Somehow Merlyn knew he was rolling his eyes. "Isn't it obvious? I'm going to slay the monster. Or whatever this is."

She reached out blindly for Morgana's wrist and found her elbow instead. Morgana started to pull away from her grip, obviously ready to duke it out with Arthur, but Merlyn pushed her forward. "Come on, let's get away from the door." They were too loud here, the guards could still hear them.

Arthur grabbed Merlyn's shoulder when she started forward, and her awareness of him increased tenfold. "There're stairs. Let me lead so you don't break your neck on them, idiot."

Merlyn's temper flared, fueled by the stress of the day and her frustration with this very simple plan's increasing number of complications. "I am not a child," she snapped. "And I _knew_ that." But despite having been here literally only a few hours ago, Merlyn clearly did not know her way around this place as well as Arthur. And even in a temper, Merlyn couldn't deny she was often clumsy. So she let him guide her, and his hand was heavy and warm on her shoulder, even though his leather gloves. His left thumb rested on the edge of her right collarbone, and his fingers splayed across her shoulder blade. In the darkness she felt dwarfed by him. She couldn't meet his eyes like this, and for the first time since meeting him she truly _felt_ shorter. Especially when she realized he must be going down these stairs sideways to help her.

They were silent as they descended. Merlyn was a little embarrassed to admit there were more stairs than she remembered. And she was absolutely mortified when she actually tripped and the only thing that prevented her from careening to the bottom was Arthur's hand and Morgana yanking her back.

"Honestly, _Mer_ lyn." Arthur complained, still whispering, but she thought there might be a certain fondness in his voice.

"Oh _do_ shut up, Arthur," Morgana spat. It did not escape Merlyn's notice that Morgana shifted their positions so _her_ hand gripped the _physician's_ elbow. Honestly, this was absolutely humiliating. She could manage just fine on her _own_.

Finally, her leather soles hit the packed-earth floor of the cavern. She moved to step forward, but Arthur didn't release her shoulder.

"This way," he whispered. They were far enough into the caverns now that it was unnecessary but in the darkness she supposed it felt appropriate. Not even moonlight reached down here.

A suspicion entered her mind. "There was a torch up there earlier. Did you…?"

"Come on," Arthur tugged on her shoulder impatiently, and Merlyn found herself wheeling in a sharp turn to the right. Morgana trailed behind her silently, but Merlyn could feel the anxiety rolling off of her. Merlyn couldn't blame her. Morgana had planned to use her magic intentionally for the first time tonight, and the Prince of the Realm committed to eradicating magic showed up. That would put anyone out of sorts. Hell, it was putting Merlyn out of sorts, and she was more than used to using her magic. Just…not in front of people. And certainly not in front of Arthur or Morgana.

She stumbled again in the dark but she caught herself this time. She could feel Arthur's irritation through his grip and she half-heartedly tried to shrug out of it. It didn't work.

But after a few seconds, and a path that seemed to take them behind the stairs they'd just descended, she saw light flickering in the tunnels. Merlyn looked up, finally able to see Arthur, and he and Morgana both released her.

He looked tired. Like a weight had settled over him that hadn't been there previously.

It lasted only a moment. Then he snapped back into his default prat mode. Still, it wasn't as effective a mask as it usually was, and Merlyn had no trouble seeing through the cracks.

"You did take the torches," She observed instead. He rolled his eyes and somehow that was just as annoying when she could see it as when she couldn't. A few more steps and they found themselves in a dead end, with two torches lying on the ground.

"Obviously." He disappeared around the corner and Merlyn followed. She needed light to defeat the Afanc. Besides needing fire to kill it, she needed to be able to _see_.

" _Why_ are you _here_?" Morgana demanded again, more impatient now.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Edvard told me Merlyn knew how to kill the…what was it?"

"An Afanc," Merlyn told him flatly.

"The Afanc, right. And he told me she was planning to do it all alone. And of course I had to come and see that, because it's sure to backfire spectacularly. Plus, when she inevitably needed someone to help her and perform a daring rescue, I wanted to be nearby. Convenience, and all that."

Morgana stepped forward and swatted him while Merlyn rolled her eyes. "Oh knock it off, Arthur, we all know you came to make sure she was safe."

Merlyn huffed in indignation while Arthur blustered. She got that they didn't know about her magic, that they didn't know the full extent to which she could take care of herself, but their hovering was getting annoying. "Look, I told Oswald to let you know not to bother. I can handle it myself."

Arthur gestured to Morgana. "Then why is she here? Father would murder all of us if he caught her down here."

Merlyn shrugged, and ignored how Morgana stiffened. "She insisted. For Gwen's sake."

Arthur rolled his eyes again. Merlyn was surprised they didn't fall out of his head. "Then I'm insisting. For my _people's_ sake."

Damn. That was a good argument.

But he absolutely could not come. It was one thing for Morgana—if the ward found out about Merlyn's magic, she would probably be angry that Merlyn didn't tell her sooner, but she would keep the secret. Hell, she might even ask for lessons. If Arthur found out…honestly Merlyn had no idea what would happen. It wouldn't end well, at any rate.

"More people complicates this, which makes it less likely to work. It really only takes one, and having you along would be extraneous," Merlyn declared, hoping he'd decide it wasn't worth his time.

"How did you even know when to meet us? And why did you lock the gate behind you?" Morgana asked.

Arthur turned to his childhood friend. "These are siege tunnels. There's more than one way in, and I've had them memorized since I was twelve, so avoiding the aquifer was easy. This is just the closest gate to the well, so I figured you'd come this way eventually and just waited. You should be thanking me—if I hadn't put the torch out, you never would have gotten past the guards." He turned to Merlyn. "And I'm coming. That's final."

To Merlyn's surprise, Morgana caved. "Fine." Merlyn turned to her, questioning and a little panicked. "Neither of us can claim involvement. At least this way, Arthur can say he killed the thing himself, and then Uther won't have a reason to imprison all those people. The crisis will be over and even he can't justify a witch hunt then." Morgana reached down and grabbed one of the burning torches. "Now let's _go_."

And with that she turned and marched back to the main tunnel.

Merlyn sighed. This was getting to be much more complicated than she'd originally planned. Use a torch and summon a gust of wind. Boom. Done. But now…

She gestured helplessly. "Does she even know where she's going?"

Arthur groaned. "Morgana, _wait_." But he picked up a torch and jogged after her. Merlyn, needing the light, was forced to do the same.

"You don't even know how to kill it," she complained, "don't leave me behind, you prat."

Arthur looked offended. " _Me?_ What about _her?_ " He paused. "How _do_ you kill it anyway?"

Damn. She walked right into that one.

"Fire," She told him easily, her brain scrambling for an explanation. Like usual, she went for a half truth. "The Afanc is made of water." And earth. "If we light it on fire, it should die rather quickly. Water evaporates, when exposed to heat." And blow on it a bit, but he didn't need to know that part.

Arthur snorted, and they came to the end of the tunnel. Morgana was waiting impatiently, obviously having realized she didn't know where she was going. "That's it?" His expression morphed into shock. "Wait, you thought you were going to be able to do that _on your own?_ "

She glared at him. "Anyone can light a fire, dipshit."

Arthur shook his head. "You're ridiculous. Everyone knows that, when confronting a larger enemy, it's important to have as many small targets as possible to distract it." Arthur snorted. "We should have brought Frederick too. He'd be perfect for this."

Merlyn whacked him on the arm, relishing her ability to actually cause a little pain since he wasn't wearing armor. "His name is _Oswald_ , for heaven's sake. And no, we should _not_ have brought him. Poor boy would probably faint at the first sight of it. He could get hurt." Not to mention she was still pretty wary of performing magic around him. No need to make the kid even more terrified of her than he already was.

Morgana snorted. "You two fight like a married couple."

Merlyn jumped a little and turned to see Morgana walking behind her. She cursed herself. If she was going to do this, she needed to be in the front of the line or the back. That way no one would see her eyes glow, and she didn't risk being overheard.

"We do not," Merlyn growled, irritated mostly with herself. She'd allowed Arthur to distract her and that made this whole thing even more difficult. She was in the middle of the lineup with nowhere to go. She turned again to follow Arthur, and was surprised to see him looking at her with an unfathomable expression.

"That's why you didn't want anyone to come, isn't it?" He asked, his tone almost conversational. "You didn't want anyone getting hurt."

Merlyn shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. No, that wasn't the reason, not really. She wasn't stupid, she knew this would be theoretically easier if she had people helping her. She just couldn't risk her secret. Common sense told her to just allow the lie, to let them think that was her reasoning. But it made her sound like a much better person than she was. Much stupider, too. No, she didn't want her friends getting hurt. But it was more about the risk to her own person, to her own secret, than anything else, and that felt like something she shouldn't lie about.

Before she could say anything, Arthur made up his mind. "You're an idiot, Merlyn."

Morgana squeezed her shoulder, and Merlyn followed behind Arthur. Damn them both, they were making this much harder on her than it needed to be.

The aquifer was only a few turns away now, and by unspoken agreement they fell silent.

Merlyn's gut clenched with tension. Her magic hummed anxiously in her skin, sensing danger, and the voices in the air thrummed nervously in warning, as if displaced. She began to sweat, but Merlyn couldn't tell if it was from anticipation, or because the creature was approaching.

A rock clinked to the left, and all three of them spun and pressed their backs against the damp walls of the tunnel. Merlyn shivered, her reaction only partly to do with the dropping temperature and uncomfortable moisture against her skin. The Afanc was coming, and the whispering in her ears turned to anxious yelps, the clenching in her stomach turned to nausea and her head felt light. Her magic spun violently within her, as if trying to escape, and it made her dizzy.

 _Calm down_ , she told herself. _It'll be easy to kill_.

Her magic hesitated a moment before spinning on. It was reacting to something unseen, and yet familiar. The strange disquiet, so like the bodies she'd examined, but more, infinitely more.

Another sound came from in front of them, and Arthur crowded Merlyn and Morgana between the wall and his back. Morgana had the presence of mind to step out of it. Merlyn, however, was trapped.

She brought her hands to his shoulders, and leveraged herself to see around him. Arthur just pressed her back into the stone walls harder. Merlyn wanted to protest, to tell him she didn't need him to protect her, but she couldn't summon the breath and it was taking all her concentration to not give in to the dizzying storm of her magic and run from this place.

A growl, from the left again. Arthur answered with his own growl and in his frustration spat, "did you see it?"

Morgana shook her head, and they waved the torches frantically from side to side, searching. The wavering light did not help Merlyn's dizziness, and downright sabotaged her concentration. The nausea grew in time with the cloying, anxious sense of _wrongness_ about the air. Whatever this Afanc truly was, its mere existence was unholy.

Then the world _screamed_ and black spots danced in her vision. Her stomach clenched in an uncomfortable knot and she swallowed her own bile as Arthur reeled back, and her head slammed against the wall. She let out a low groan and Morgana screamed off to her left. The world spun in and out of focus and her magic twisted so fast and violently within her that she couldn't get ahold of it. Her knees gave out and she slowly slid down the wall, only held up by the press of Arthur's body.

Through the madly swaying flames and the haze of her vision, she saw something wrong, some demon wearing water and made of clay. It growled in Arthur's face, clawed arms swinging, and Merlyn just barely managed to summon enough magic to cast a stinging spell before her vision swam again. She turned and retched, unable to control it between the dizziness of her head and the violent sway of her magic.

Then the creature was gone, but Merlyn could still feel him nearby. The _wrongness_ was still laced into the air, like the very matter of the universe couldn't stand to be in contact with it.

Her vision cleared. The nausea lessened to a manageable degree. Her magic, while agitated, didn't make her feel like she was about to fly apart.

Her head, however, _throbbed_.

"Arthur she's bleeding."

Gentle fingers probed her head and she pulled away weakly when they reached the soft spot near her crown.

She heard cursing.

"…concussion…"

"…have to carry her…"

She wanted to tell them to leave her alone, that she was fine, absolutely fine, but before she could even think to get the words out she was being lifted, and found herself laid out against a broad shoulder. An arm wrapped around her thighs, and her vision went in and out of focus as blood rushed to her head and she saw only a long brown trench coat.

"'ut me down…" she mumbled.

"—Idiot. You weigh too much."

"…'could puke on you?"

There was a huff of laughter, and then the shoulders started swaying, and Merlyn had to close her eyes against the motion of the run and the flickering light as the shoulder dug into her belly.

Then the world wrenched with fear. Her eyes snapped open and even through her spotty, out of focus vision, she could see the Afanc scant feet from them.

She was not the only one.

"ARTHUR BEHIND YOU!"

Morgana's voice pierced her skull like knives behind her temples, and Arthur's elegant spin into a defensive crouch almost made her retch again.

But she couldn't. She had a job to do.

"The _torch_ ," she moaned, loud as she could, and she heard a screech as Arthur lunged and made contact with the creature.

She whispered the incantation into Arthur's coat, reaching for that place deep within her that was magic itself, her center, her unerring calm. The taste of dark wine filled her mouth and the smell of leather crowded her nose. " _Byre wíghryre þone onræsend!_ " (2)

A current of wind filled the cavern, and a horrific scream told her it worked. The magic in the air gave one final shudder and immediately relaxed, peace restored and the disease expelled. The unconscious tension in her body fled, and Merlyn did the only thing available to her.

She passed out.

* * *

She woke up, briefly, swaddled in a long brown overcoat and cradled in someone's arms as they walked, her head resting on his shoulder as her body swayed with his gait. She felt warm. Safe.

 _Rest_ , an ancient voice whispered.

The world turned black again.

* * *

Merlyn next woke in her own bed. Or at least she thought it was. There was no way this soft, quilted cover was her ratty old blanket. There was no way her bed was this warm.

Reluctant as she was to disturb the image, she pried her eyelids open. It was definitely her room, but the comforter was a deep, Camelot red, as if someone took a flag and made a quilt.

Curious.

She tried to remember what happened. Merlyn, Morgana and Arthur went deep into the caverns. The Afanc came. Everything hurt. Arthur smacked her into a rock…

That was it.

They must have won, right? She wouldn't be here in her bed if they lost.

Slowly, she sat up. No one was in the room with her. Reluctantly she threw off her blanket and let her feet touch the floor. She winced at the chill of the air and the slick cold of her wood floor. Her boots were next to her bed and she quickly pulled them on. What she wouldn't give to have one of Arthur's plush rugs, the kind her toes could sink into.

Her head gave an indignant throb as she unraveled the linen wrapped around her cranium, and Meryn grimaced. She tentatively probed her skull, and found a swollen lump, and dried blood in her hair. A concussion, probably. The memory loss might be a symptom. Or it could be due to that awful magic she felt. It was possible she should just lay back down, but she didn't feel tired. Merlyn looked up, checking the window. Judging by the light it was late afternoon. Probably close to dinnertime.

…Just how long had she been asleep anyway?

Merlyn made her way to the door. Whoever put her to bed left her leggings, tunic, and jacket on, for which she was grateful. Winter seemed to be upon them, and the long chemise she sometimes wore to sleep was a thin thing which did not keep her warm at all.

The door creaked open and she picked her way down the steps. God, she was _sore_. She felt like she'd been run over by a horde of Arthur's knights.

She looked around Gaius' chambers, and to her surprise she saw Oswald near the oven, kneading some dough.

Merlyn cleared her voice, and noticed for the first time that she really, desperately wanted a glass of water.

"O'w'ld?" She croaked.

The servant jumped and spun around, shock on his face. "Miss Merlyn! You're awake!"

She nodded a bit dumbly. "'ader?"

He blinked a bit confused, and then brightened. "Water! Right! Well it's safe ta drink now, at any rate." He ladled out a cup for her from the bucket they kept.

She downed three glasses before she was able to speak properly. She wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve. "Thanks."

The servant flushed. "'Tis no problem, Miss."

Merlyn shivered a little, the cold seemed to seep in through the walls. "How long was I out?"

Oswald shrugged. "Prince Arthur brought you back late last night. It's mid-afternoon."

Huh. "So the Afanc?"

Oswald's eyes became curious, but his body language told her he wouldn't ask the questions on his tongue. "They say Prince Arthur killed it."

Merlyn grunted as she remembered flickering light, the howls of a demon and a muttered spell.

"Sort of," she agreed. "Did you know what he was planning?"

Oswald shook his head frantically, and suddenly there was fear in his eyes. "No, Miss! I would have warned you!"

Normally when Oswald got like this, all flushed and pale and jittery, she backed off, and did her best to comfort and calm him.

Normally her head didn't feel like someone shoved a rock in between her skull and grey matter.

"Why do you keep my secret, Oswald?" She asked tiredly, a bit morose. "It's obvious you're afraid of me. So why…?"

Oddly enough, that seemed to snap Oswald out of it a little. He looked to the floor and didn't speak for a breath so long Merlyn wondered if he was going to answer. Finally, he grabbed a cup and started cleaning it with an old rag.

"My sister had magic," he told her finally. "She was a decade older, and took care of me after—well. She took care of me, and sometimes she used magic ta do it. She died a few years back. Took ill one winter after the flu set in." His cheeks grew rosy. "You remind me of her, Miss."

"I'm sorry, Oswald," she whispered solemnly, not knowing what else to say. Oswald couldn't be older than fifteen, and clearly he'd been fending for himself for a while.

"'ts alright," he shrugged. "Anyway, I started ta believe all the things King Uther said about magic—'bout how it's evil and how people who use it are evil. I wondered if that's why God killed my sister—because she was evil at the core, even if she didn't seem that way ta me." He paused in his cleaning, and smiled a bit. "You really are like her. The two of you would have got on."

"I'm sure," Merlyn whispered softly. The whispers of her own doubts swarmed her mind. She wanted, so _badly_ , to believe that magic wasn't evil, that she _herself_ wasn't evil, but how could she be sure of that, when things like the Afanc could only come from magic. When people used it to evil ends, constantly? When they tried to _kill_ —

"When I realized you had—magic. When I found out, I thought it was happening all over again. But then you told me what you were using it fer, and I believed you." His smile became broad. "I owe you some thanks, Miss Merlyn. You redeemed my memory of my sister."

Merlyn's eyes watered. "I'm sure I didn't—"

"You did," Oswald interrupted, and Merlyn was so startled at his confidence she nearly swallowed her tongue. "And I'm grateful."

She hesitated. "You're…You're welcome," she whispered. They sat in silence for a moment or two more, and Oswald began gathering plates on the table. Merlyn hated to interrupt the moment but—well she'd never get a better opportunity to ask. "But Oswald, why are you so afraid of me then?"

The servant froze, and Merlyn immediately regretted saying anything at all.

"I haven't…my sister had magic, but she never used it around me. When she did it was…little things. Like making flowers grow, or folding paper into a pretty shape. It was entertainment." Oswald's voice caught. "I never saw it really used before. Not like the things you do. And even I know yer a powerful witch, Miss Merlyn." He put the plates down, and she could tell he was shaking a little. "I know yer not evil, Miss Merlyn, I know that, it's just…"

He was afraid of power that great, like anyone would be. Like everyone _should_ be.

But she didn't want him to be afraid of her. She didn't want anyone to be afraid of her just because of what she was. Whatever she was.

Perhaps it was wrong, what she was about to do. Perhaps it wasn't what she was _supposed_ to do, perhaps she was weak to promise this. But she was not strong enough to live with other people's terror.

Merlyn stood from the table, and took a few tentative steps toward him. Oswald turned and she saw him stiffen unconsciously.

She raised her right hand. "I solemnly swear, Oswald, to you and to the world at large, that my magic shall only be used to protect people. To balance the scales between the weak and the strong, the cunning and the kind. Between justice and evil. Furthermore, I swear to never use magic against you, should we both be in our right minds." Oswald's eyes widened, and she extended her hand to him. "Friends?"

There was an awful moment where Merlyn thought he wouldn't accept it, that he couldn't bring himself to touch such a creature as herself. And then he reached out, his palms a little sweaty.

"Friends."

* * *

Merlyn, for the umpteenth time in the last few days, found herself sneaking around the castle. This time, fortunately, it was without the potential deaths of a hundred people on the line. And this path was a familiar one. So much so she barely had to pay attention to the guard rotations. She knew the gaps by heart, and she knew when to use magic to get around the tighter spots. This was especially fortunate today, because honestly she couldn't make herself move any faster than a brisk walk. Stairs were _awful_.

Soon enough, she was traveling down empty corridors, a short labyrinth of little-used walkways that hid a greater secret until, finally, there was an unremarkable stairwell that Merlyn marched down. Or she tried, anyway. Whatever happened last night was obviously something she should never, ever do again. She grabbed a torch and lit it after a few turns down the stairwell. Caution never did anyone any harm, and she did _not_ want to be seen. Especially when she couldn't exactly run away.

Eventually, the familiar concrete steps gave way to packed earth and slabs of stone, and the air grew warm and damp. Kilgharrah was fighting winter as much as the rest of them, she supposed. Merlyn wondered if he was actually appreciative of the change in temperature—how else would he mark his time in this cave?

Finally, she made it to the ledge. She said nothing, and simply waited.

It did not take long.

The great wings beat against the stale air, and in seconds the beast was before her.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, young witch?"

Merlyn took a deep breath. "I just wanted to let you know, the creature that caused the illness is gone. It was an Afanc." Kilgharrah said nothing, perhaps realizing she had more to say. "And also, that I learned my lesson."

Now Kilgharrah looked interested. "Oh really? And what was that?"

Merlyn looked down, staring hard at the perch Kilgharrah liked to use. "I told Gaius that I'd been wrong to save those people. It had…terrible consequences. A hundred and fifty people almost died because of it. Over half of them were children." She craned her neck up, needing to look Kilgharrah in the eye when she said this next part. "But I think I was wrong to say that." She waved her hand expressively to prevent Kilgharrah from interrupting. "Yes, I endangered many people who would have been safe, had I not intervened. But I also managed to save their lives, with help. I saved them, and the twenty people who would have died of illness. _I did the right thing_ , Kilgharrah. Where I went wrong was assuming Uther was rational. I assumed he didn't want to kill people. And I won't make that mistake again."

Kilgharrah cocked his head to the side. "I told you your magic was given so you could help Arthur. So you could protect him, and make sure he ascends to the throne."

Merlyn nodded. "I understand now, why that is important. Why that needs to happen." She felt her magic surge beneath her skin. "But I'll protect him because he's my friend, and because I believe in him. Not for any other reason. And I certainly don't believe that prerogative precludes me from helping others."

The dragon sighed. "I cannot tell if you are simply stubborn, or if you truly believe the things you say." Merlyn rolled her eyes. "I told you your magic always demands a cost. If you insist on taking this path, you must know it is dangerous. And you must be strong enough to carry the price, if you are to be successful." Kilgharrah shook his head. "It seems you will not be deterred. Very well. Know, young witch, that you walk a fine line, and know I tried to warn you. If you fail, you fail us all."

Something inside Merlyn burned at the words. She remembered Oswald—her promise to him, and the weakness in it. "If I don't use my magic to the benefit of Camelot as a whole, then it is worthless." She leveled her gaze with Kilgharrah's. "I'm strong enough. I have to be."

The dragon shook his head in disgust. "Foolish girl. This is not a burden which can be carried." wise, ancient eyes seemed pained. "But for all our sakes, I hope you are right."

* * *

Arthur was not at all pleased with his servant.

Okay, so maybe he hadn't been particularly clear in his orders, them being nonverbal and all, but he certainly thought they'd been understood. The boy was _supposed_ to go to Gaius' chambers, check on Merlyn, and then _come back_ to Arthur's chambers and let him know if she'd succumbed to some bizarre illness or not. Honestly, it wouldn't surprise him at all if she'd somehow managed to contract the water-plague after the beast was dead. She was just too fond of proving people wrong for her own good.

He huffed a frustrated sigh. Leave it to Merlyn to distract him from writing a report for his father when she _wasn't even in the room_.

He stood abruptly, and started pacing. No use trying to write when he was like this. Perhaps he should just go see for himself—

He stopped. Grunted. And sat down again.

_I arrested the children in the households of the suspected women, as per my orders._

So many children. So many, many families. He watched them all reunite in the courtyard, but didn't join. He suspected he would not have been welcome there. But he could feel their joy, and it radiated up and through the walls of the castle.

_After being informed by my servant that Court Physician Gaius discovered a means of purifying the magical beast, known as the Afanc, from the water supply, I went down to the siege tunnels to do the deed myself._

Arthur paused. Morgana had already lectured him that Merlyn probably shouldn't be associated with the monster at all. Telling his father that the girl who just declared herself a sorceress in front of a hundred witnesses was also the one who discovered the means of killing the monster was a Very Bad Idea. But how to explain his knowledge of how to kill the demon?

_The Court Physician relayed the means by which the beast could be killed through my manservant as well. Since the Afanc is a creature of water, setting it on fire would destroy it._

A small part of him wondered why he wasn't more disturbed about lying to his father. His father was the king, after all. It was completely unjust to lie to him. It was inexcusable. If he were anyone else, he could be hanged for it.

Most of him though, remembered the strange irrationality his father had shown only the day before. Committing himself to the deaths of a hundred innocent children, and their older sisters and mothers. No, he couldn't risk telling King Uther the truth about this mission. It would put Merlyn at risk.

He put his quill down, and watched for a moment as ink dripped from the tip to the parchment below. Arthur sighed and stood, pacing toward the door again.

Honestly, he should just—

His door opened.

"Don't you ever knock?" He asked, trying to mask just how glad he was to see her. "What if I were changing?"

Merlyn rolled her eyes. "First of all, you always change your trousers behind the partition over there." She hooked her thumb at the wooden screen. "Second, I'm a physician. It's not like I haven't seen it all before."

Arthur frowned involuntarily at the thought. It did not exactly…sit well with him.

"Anyway," she continued, apparently oblivious, "Gwen stopped me in the hallway. She wanted me to pass on her thanks for killing the creature and getting the death sentence lifted." Gwen…Gwen…Guinevere! That was Morgana's maid. Right, she'd been one of the women sleeping in the infirmary the night the infected citizens recovered. "And Oswald said you wanted to see me?"

Arthur's frown deepened. Clearly that servant needed a lesson on interpreting nonverbal orders.

"Yes," he invented, trying to think of a reason for her to come here. He had been, admittedly, a little concerned for her welfare, and it was good to see she was alright. It assuaged some of the guilt for being partially responsible for her head wound in the first place. "I wanted to go over the story I'm giving my father about our battle."

I curious gleam entered her blue eyes. "Could you tell me what happened? The details are…fuzzy, after the Afanc showed up."

He peered at her, noticing the lack of bandages and the pallor of her skin for the first time. "Should you be out of bed?" She looked suddenly guilty. He raised an eyebrow. "Did you even let Gaius look you over?"

She looked indignant, fire flashing in her eyes. "Well I couldn't exactly ignore a royal summons, now could I?"

It was ridiculous to feel guilty about an order he didn't even _give_ , but he felt a sharp flash of it, all the same. Maybe he was being oversensitive though—he'd suffered a lot of consequences for orders he hadn't given in the last few days.

Merlyn, apparently caught his mood a little too perceptively. "And hey, I'm a physician too. I know my limits. Mostly."

Arthur rolled his eyes, not quite feeling up to their banter. "Says the girl who tried to take on the Afanc alone."

She grew indignant again. It was so easy to rile her temper. "I would have been _fine_."

Arthur gave her an unimpressed look, but didn't feel like arguing the point. "Whatever. Just come over here so I can read you what I have so far. I'll fill you in—"

"What's wrong?" she interrupted, her face was unreadable and her eyes searched his. She took a step forward and her expression became curious. She was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, he noticed, the old jacket practically hung off of her frame. "Something's off with you."

Arthur frowned. "Nothing. I'm fine. Now—"

"No, something's wrong. Tell me."

"Merlyn, I know you're new to Camelot but _you_ don't give _me_ —"

One hand went to her hip while the other waved expressively. "Oh come off it. Who am I going to tell?"

Who indeed.

It wasn't like Arthur was exactly brimming with close friends and confidants to choose from. He rarely told Morgana anything. Any conversations about emotions they actually had were limited to what she picked up about him. He knew she wouldn't tell anyone anything he said, but some part of him worried she would one day use it against him. Sir Leon, maybe, but there was a wide gulf between them blocked by age, duty, and mutual respect for each other's abilities. Arthur wouldn't even know how to go about bridging that, and he wasn't sure he could do it at all without compromising Sir Leon's respect for him. His servant…no. Just…no.

So that left Merlyn.

…How had this woman come so close to him in such a short span of time? It was…strange. Arthur didn't get close to people, period. He was a Prince, he wasn't supposed to. So how—

She marched toward him, but not as forcefully as she usually did. She moved stiffly, as if sore, but she kept going until she was toe to toe with him, looking him in the eye as levelly as possible despite her stature. "Arthur, as your friend, I demand to know what's wrong."

Ah. That was how.

He turned away from her, looking toward the fireplace, and Arthur remembered the conversation they had before he fought Valiant. How she, somehow, seemed to understand him better than he did himself.

"I arrested people without cause." He told her. "I arrested children." Something rose in his chest that felt close to panic. "I invaded their homes, everyone's homes, and they hate me for it."

"Arthur—"

"And they're right to!" He continued, heedless, and turned back to her. He could not stand the compassion in her gaze. "They're right to. Everything I did over the course of this crisis was unjustified."

"That's enough," Merlyn interjected sternly, her mouth pursed and her brow furrowed. "Arthur you can't blame yourself, you were following orders. You fought back when your father wanted to arrest the recovered people's families, and you flat out refused to arrest the children until you had a plan to free them." She took a step closer and laid her delicate hand on his arm. "None of this is your fault. You were compelled to follow your King's orders. And you made sure they weren't followed through in the end. All those people survived because of you."

Arthur gestured to the wall facing Camelot's lower town, a heavy, roiling weight settling in his gut. "But _they_ don't know that." His hand scrubbed through his hair involuntarily. "All they know is that their Prince violated their homes and families."

Merlyn's grip tightened on his arm. "Arthur. In a way, everyone you arrested was protected by their incarceration. They couldn't be considered guilty because their whereabouts were known. No, it wasn't ideal, and I'm sorry you had to do it, but by doing so you saved them." He could feel her smile before she spoke again. "And slaying the Afanc doesn't hurt either. They surely know that part as well, by now."

Arthur grimaced. Yes, he slayed the Afanc, but he didn't do it alone. And no one would know that, because he was lying about the whole thing. It was…necessary, but dishonorable.

She squeezed his forearm. "You did the right thing, Arthur." Her voice grew distant. "It's just…sometimes doing the right thing doesn't feel good, like it's supposed to."

Arthur hesitated a second. "But how will I lead my people if they hate me," he whispered.

"Arthur—"

"No, I'm serious Merlyn—"

"Arthur, _look_ —"

"I can't lead people who want someone else—"

" _Arthur!_ " she snapped. He glared down at her.

" _You're_ the one who wanted to talk about _feelings_ ," he complained.

Her eyebrow twitched angrily. Her voice screeched up half an octave. "Would you just look at the window?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow, but did as she said.

There was…a strange glow against the dark velvet of the night sky. And it was coming from the courtyard…?

He walked to his window, and Merlyn trailed behind him. He heard her gasp at the sight.

Hundreds of people filled the central courtyard beneath his window. Each person carried a candle and they were…they were…

"They're _smiling_ ," he whispered breathlessly.

"No," Merlyn returned. "They're smiling at _you_."

And they _were_. He could see it in their faces, illuminated by the candles. They were spread in a respectful arc to face his window, filling the courtyard to capacity. There was an energy about the crowd, a jubilance restrained by solemnity and something else. And in the very front was…

It was hard to tell in the dark, and he barely recognized the man with a smile on his bruised face, but that was the same man who cursed him yesterday as Arthur ordered his baby arrested. There was a woman standing next to him, and a baby was cradled in her arms. She had tears running down her face, but her smile was beautiful.

Something seemed to fracture in his chest, like his heart would burst with the love he felt for these people. For all his people, and for Camelot herself.

"I told him not to tell anyone," he gasped, unable to do much more. He could only imagine what expression he wore.

Merlyn turned to her left and snatched a candle from the stand. She set it on the sill between them. "I don't think he listened," she told him gently.

The crowd below seemed to grow excited by the candle's appearance, and in a gesture that was strangely synchronized, they bowed to him.

 _Thank you_ , his heart whispered, _thank you thank you_.

"I don't think you have to worry about earning your people's love," Merlyn whispered, her voice shaky. Arthur wondered at her tears.

"No," he breathed, refusing to acknowledge his own tears. "I don't suppose I do."

They watched the grateful masses long into the night, and stayed even as the candles burned low and the year's first snowfall drifted down like a blessing from the gods themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Honestly, there was no reason to go to the cryptic dragon. Gaius already had all the answers. Kilgharrah's exact words are "use the elements at your disposal" and so I guess that could mean he was saying "be smart and use your resources without relying on me all the time, idiot," but I don't really give the writers that much credit.
> 
> (2) Again, I just used an Old English translation machine. It should say, roughly, "Strong wind, defeat the attacker." If you're fluent in Old English, or at least better at it than me, feel free to give me a better translation.
> 
> First: I AM SO SORRY. I never intended to leave this without an update for as long as I have, and I really have to apologize. Especially to the people to whom I gave update deadlines that I didn't meet. Special apology goes out to the guest who commented under the name "bigfan." I really tried to finish this out on your birthday and it just didn't work out. I'm sorry. I had intended to get this out on Christmas Eve, but as you can see, it took a little more time than that. This was just The Chapter That Refused To End, and it took a lot longer to write than I was expecting. Again, I'm so sorry, and I have no excuse.
> 
> Just in case anyone was wondering, I have no idea where I'm getting Oswald's accent. My best guess is Northern Minnesotan crossed with...some type of British accent? I don't even know, I just didn't want him to sound too educated or articulate. That's not a dis to anyone. As a Minnesotan myself, I am not insulting people. I just wanted him to sound like he grew up in the country, but without the benefit of an education, like Merlyn had.
> 
> So hopefully after all that waiting, it wasn't a disappointment? I'm not sure how I feel about certain parts and I really don't know if I did that last scene justice, but I would really love it if you could give me feedback. Especially critical feedback. But really, any commentary is appreciated beyond words.
> 
> I know it's not Christmas anymore but you have no idea how disappointed I was when I realized I wouldn't be able to do this in a timely fashion, so I'm going to do it anyway.
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS, YA' FILTHY ANIMALS


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